July of 2018, I spent doing what most of us have come to enjoy every July, traveling from exposure event to exposure event. For me, I wasn’t just watching the games, but I had the privilege to work the sidelines – coaching a special group of 8th/9th graders. This July, unlike any July we’ve experienced in the past, was going to be a challenge. I had planned to do Run 4 Roses, TOC, and USJN Nationals. For us, it was New Jersey, to Louisville, KY to Chicago, IL back home for about a week before we had to pack-up again and head down to DC (I’m sure many players/families can relate).
The early part of July was a lot of fun, great experience for everyone involved. It was the week leading up to DC that was very trying. Throughout the season, roster began to thin with injuries and other things to say the least. Leading up to DC was the most trying time, for me personally, in my years of coaching. We went from 8 kids scheduled to go, down to 5 – yes F-I-V-E. As a coach, I was devastated, stressed, and everything in between. But I felt the show had to go on. For many of our kids, the potential for exposure and the experience was way too great. The show went on.
Those 5 gave me EVERYTHING they had. But there was one game in particular that I won’t forget and really put life in perspective for me.
It was the first game of the tournament – we played a very strong team from Maryland. It was a very fast-paced game – up and back, up and back. Strangely, this first game was played in halves, where as the rest of the tournament was played in quarters – so you can imagine with that style of play and very few timeouts for breaks, the toll our players would soon feel.
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It was roughly halfway through the half, when some of the empty baseline seats, would find host to some college coaches. Game was manageable at that point in terms of scoring, before some mistakes started happening. A series of possessions I could see one player in particular, pushing the limits, doing everything she could to put the team on her shoulders. Driving to the basket. Forcing the turnover and pushing the ball with speed the length of the court. It wasn’t long before I could see said players body change. Pace of breathing changed – she was taking quick breathes, almost gasping for air. Face just short of tears.
Alexis vs. Lexy
I called for a timeout. As the players came over to the huddle, I put both hands on said player by the shoulders, looked her in the eyes as she continued with short quick breathes. As we stood there on the sidelines, calmly I uttered to her, “Just Breathe.” Said player just happened to be Alexis Linton.
For those that don’t know, Alexis (Lexy as we call her) is my only daughter. As simple as those words may sound to most, for us, there was a time when it was everything but.
September 18, 2003, my wife (Erin) and I were blessed with a beautiful baby girl. Our hospital stay was typical – doctors/nurses in and out making sure all was well. Health wise for both Erin and Lexy all seemed okay. It wasn’t until a few days after our release, that things took a turn.
I remember us at home, Erin and I sitting on the couch as she fed Lexy. Just as she had finished, in typical feeding time ritual, Erin placed Lexy over her shoulders to be burped. I watched, smile over my face, in awe of just the whole baby experience. Watching, I noticed the color of Lexy’s face slowly changing from a pale yellow skin tone to a grape-juice-like purple. As my wife would tell you, in my typical demeanor, I said to her, “Dear, she doesn’t look to good.” I can replay in my mind as my wife, in what seemed like slow motion, pulled Lexy away from her shoulders and screamed, “Oh my God.” Lexy had stopped breathing.
In a moment of panic, I managed to call 911. In what seemed like seconds, EMT was inside our home. I remember thinking as we watching EMT’s work – “Just Breathe.” She did. Lexy was alert and breathing. Though all seemed well at that moment, it was the EMT’s suggestion that we take her to the hospital. We did.
In doing so, what seemed like an easy thing to do, became logistically difficult. Though shortly removed from the hospital, because we had been released and exposed to the “outside”, Lexy would not be allowed to re-enter the NICU – which would have provided the best care. Given the situation, we were granted temporary stay while they ran tests. It wasn’t long, in the midst of the first test, Lexy had again stopped breathing. I can vividly hear the alarms and the calls for assistance as we watched – again thinking to myself, “Just Breathe”. For the second time in just hours, our daughter again alert and breathing.
Shortly thereafter, in meeting with the doctors, they suggested she be transferred to CHOP (Childrens Hospital of Philadelphia) to figure out what was going on and receive better care. Ultimately we agreed. Transport arrived and we were off.
During the transport to Philadelphia, in what seemed like hours, Lexy experienced again what we had witnessed the two times before – breathing stopped, she was revived. This time it occurred several times during the transport.
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The experience in at CHOP was an eye opener to say the least as this became our home for almost a month after welcoming Alexis into our lives. Our days became repetitive – wakeup, sit by her side, eat, sit by her side, and repeat, as we waited for answers. Of course in those moments, as you watch your child connected to all sorts of wiring and machines, your mind can’t help but circle through the the extreme circumstances. Hearing such advanced medical terms, trying to wrap your head all of it. Lexy went through what seemed like every test known to man, in search for “the problem”.
Alexis Linton enjoying Wildwood, NJ
EKG’s, EEG’s, CT’s, test after test would come back normal leaving us puzzled as to what we were going through. After time, as doctor’s discovered, Lexy’s suffered from apnea – in which her brain would often forget to “remind” her to breathe. The answer among other things was a Caffeine Citrate – a central nervous system stimulant.
After spending what seemed like forever in a hospital, diagnosis complete and proper treatment plant in place, the time finally came when we could take our Lexy home. Given her condition, the next few months would be challenging as she also had to stay on a breathing monitor for the next few months – which meant our child was still wired up and connected 24/7. Nurses would come by to check in, collect data from the machine but all would fare well within this time.
Fast forward almost 16 years later, the perspective of life as you could imagine is very different. I’ve seen and experienced the struggles, the heartaches, and the unknowns. As a parent, when I express joy and excitement over each accomplishment and accolade that Alexis achieves, it carries a much deeper meaning and appreciation given our life experience. For me, life has new perspective when I’m able to reflect and understand that every moment that I’m able to be on the sideline, in the stands, or just in the gym with Lexy is a blessing in itself.
Alexis Linton – 8th Grade Graduation
It’s not often that I share this story but way too often we lose sight of the important things in life. We sometimes get consumed by the thoughts of getting to the end goal in life that our perspective can become jaded. It’s important to reflect on the journey and find joy in the process. And when things seem overwhelming and “the moment” seems like a lot of weight to carry – take a minute, step back, reflect, and “Just Breathe”.
