Femoral Repair at 7

At a young age, I had earned a rather humorous, yet appropriate nickname by those who loved and cherished me most. Yes, my rambunctious and mischievous personality often forced those in my presence to yell with hands in the air, "RoHELL!!"
It could be said that from no fault of my own, rather just a pure, innocent-like fascination with seeing those wide-eyed adults curse my name, I found little things to keep them on the tips of their toes.
For instance, that one time at the age of a toddler when for some odd reason I decided to grab the salt canister and dump it down the little neighbor boys pants. Anyone can imagine the horror of that little boys mother when he squealed all the way home.

Or when Jacob (the child who swallowed 32 aspirins), waited ALL DAY long for daddy to finish a college paper so they could leave on a father-son camping trip. So they could spend hours frolicking through the woods, picking berries and gorging themselves on tiny little squirrels roasted over a fire.
 I will elaborate:
My dad had to write a super-duper long essay paper for an upper level history class that was due by the end of that evening.  Being that his quick little pointer fingers were unable to match the speed of my mother's experienced secretarial typing skills, he would jot down on paper what he wanted typed, and with Olympic sprinting agility, Jacob and Makenna would baton hand-off the notes to my mom.
All was right in the world. That is...until RoHell showed up. The paper was about 2/3 of the way finished and mom had to take a bit of a break, so she left the room. Ironically, the computer had a virus and anything that was saved would turn to Klingon (okay, okay - more like jibberish)  - therefore it was necessary to print a document immediately after finishing.
With a large smile, so proud and helpful, I popped out of the room and said, "I turn it off!" In hopes to save the electricity, I had unplugged the computer. As any toddler might do.
Let's say that my helpful deed did not receive any grand applause.

Then there was the poor, new teacher for my class at church that just didn't know what to do with me, even with a class of all boys and one girl (me), I was the trouble-maker. She made a call to my parents who went over to her home to discuss my Sunday antics and hopefully put an end to my classroom disruptions. 


As years post TOF Open heart surgery passed by, each yearly check-up the cardiologist made sure to evaluate the growth of the right leg as well as the pulse. There came a time, at 7 years of age, that walking became difficult and painful. Then the leg aches started.

During spring break  my dad and mom took me to Boise, leaving the older and younger siblings to be looked after by family. They had friends at church who had family in Boise, and that was where my parents took up lodging during the femoral artery repair.
The damaged artery was almost 4 inches long, and it would need to be bypassed by a shunt to redirect proper blood flow throughout the entire leg. A week was spent in the hospital with strict instructions to not bend the leg and lie flat while the repair healed.
This surgery concluded the 5th major surgery in the seventh year of my life...and there were more to come.

Once the recovery was complete, I was back to my mischievous self, ready to wreak havoc on the world.