A Story of True Courage
The Caitlyn Jenner ESPY is inspiring a whole lot of debate.
Well, let me tell you a story of courage.
I chronicled the story of Trina Stinson and her sons Anthony and Nick in my book House of Miracles.
Here is the introduction of Anthony and his courageous mother and brother.
That is courage folks!
No disrespect to Caitlyn or her dress...
...Trina (and all those who suffer in anonymity) deserve the ESPY.
Chapter 3 - The Story of Anthony Stinson - Part I
“When you have no choice, mobilize the spirit of courage.” --- Jewish Proverb
There wasn’t a single thing in my life that prepared me to meet Anthony Stinson. My son had been very sick; there was no getting around that. I had suffered as he awaited surgery to remove the tumor in his chest. I wondered what I would do with the rest of my life if each and every one of my prayers weren’t answered. Fortunately, I was one of the lucky ones. My son, Jake, made a full recovery and is free to enjoy his life. Jake spends hours jumping on the trampoline, wrestling with his brothers, and playing baseball. He runs through the house with reckless abandon and sometimes it’s all I can do to keep from screaming at him to settle down and be quiet. Given Jake’s renewed energy, I certainly wasn’t prepared to meet Anthony Stinson.
When I arrived at the Stinson home, I was greeted with a placard on the front door that screamed: “Oxygen! No Smoking! No Open Flames! Keep Oil and Grease Away!”
I knocked lightly on the door and Anthony’s mother, Trina, opened the door quickly.
Upon seeing me she said, “Oh my God, I forgot you were coming.” A small dog tried to escape between my legs. Trina reached for the animal and caught it. “Come on, Corabell, get in here.”
I had met Trina through The Women & Children’s Hospital of Buffalo’s Family-Centered Care Program. I had been impressed with her dedication to the program and the fierce, protective love that she had shown when speaking about her sons, Anthony and Nicholas.
“Come in,” Trina said, “but excuse me for one moment.”
Trina escaped into the other room as I stood with my notebook at the ready. Before I’d made more than three steps into the home, a young boy greeted me. “Hi, I’m Nicholas,” he said. “Anthony’s in the living room.”
I smiled at Nicholas and followed him down the short hallway that led to the living room. My heart jumped into my throat as I saw Anthony in the hospital bed in the center of the room. My eyes went directly to the oxygen bottle at the front of the bed, and then I slowly scanned the room, taking in the fully stocked medical facility that served as the family living room. Across from the bed I noticed large letters strung across the wall as if to teach a child the alphabet.
“I’m sorry,” Trina said as she entered the living room. “Some days get real busy around here.”
On the wall underneath the alphabet were two large chalkboards noting the minute-by-minute care necessary to sustain Anthony’s life. I glanced at the medicine that needed to be administered and I even read the words of a warning posted to the nurses that assisted Trina in Anthony’s care. I was doing all I could not to look into the bed.
“You’ve met Nicholas,” Trina said, “And this is Anthony.”
I peered over Trina’s shoulder at Anthony as he lay in the bed. He was hooked to a number of machines, and my eyes instantly went to the trachea tube. “He’s a big boy,” I said.
“Yeah, he’s my baby,” Trina said.
“He’s bigger than me,” Nicholas said. “I’m two years older than him and he weighs more than me.”
Trina lowered the bed rails and sat beside her unresponsive son. “Thank you for doing this,” she said. “It’ll do me good to talk about Anthony and the hospital.”
I suddenly realized that I wasn’t going to be able to just sit in the room staring at what I was seeing. I gulped for air and offered a smile. “I hope I can do your son justice,” I said.
My eyes returned to the wall and the note posted for the nursing staff. I couldn’t help but feel the love in Trina’s printed words: Please, please, please – Always keep the side up on Anthony’s bed, even if you’re sitting in the chair. We take for granted that he doesn’t move, but there have been a few times that, from his back, he stretched and rolled on his side. If the rail were down, he would have fallen out of his bed. One of my biggest fears is to have him fall 3 feet to the ground, not being able to catch himself. It makes me sick to think of, so please, make sure his sides are up at all times.
“So, how do you want to do this?” Trina asked.
It dawned on me that I was just sitting there, trapped in a state of undeniable confusion. I strained for another breath of air. “How about at the beginning?” I asked.
“That would be Nicholas,” Trina said. “Nicholas was born on June 23, 1998. He’s a big help around here, aren’t you?”
Nicholas had strayed a few feet away from the living room, but he was hanging there on the periphery to see if he could add anything about his brother.
“I try to help,” Nicholas said softly. “I counted all the alcohol swabs.”
“Yes! You did,” Trina said. She shared a brief smile with her older son. “He’s a big help,” She whispered. “Anthony was born on June 15, 2000, almost exactly two years later. It was a normal pregnancy, but I was a week-and-a-half early. I had gone through childbirth with Nicholas, so I figured that I knew what I was doing, but the pain was excruciating – way worse than with Nicholas. They finally administered an epidural, which was wonderful. I spent the next couple of hours pushing and joking that I wanted to name my child Anthony Epidural instead of Anthony Thomas. Yet, as it turned out, I had to have an emergency C-section.”
Trina turned to the bed and adjusted Anthony’s covers. “I can remember being panicked about the C-section. I was in shock actually because I had always skipped over the sections about C-sections and I felt so unprepared, but little did I know that it was just the beginning of challenges Anthony and I would face. When they finally delivered Anthony, he was screaming. I held him for the very first time, and I can remember just shaking with joy. It had been a difficult challenge, but I had my reward. I wasn’t able to see Anthony for the first few hours because he was having respiratory and feeding difficulties, but when they finally got me to a room, I asked for a wheelchair because I couldn’t handle being away from him.” Trina gazed into the bed and a slight smile broke across her face. “Anthony had tubes and monitors hooked up to him, and that really was upsetting. I cried, but everyone said he was okay, and I was able to take him home with me.”
There wasn’t any doubt that Trina was replaying every second of the birth. She touched her youngest son’s shoulder and reached around to softly caress the side of his unresponsive face. “The first sign of trouble occurred when Anthony was four months old. I noticed that his eyes were crossing, so I took him to the eye doctor. I’ll never forget it; the ophthalmologist came out and said that Anthony could barely see. I didn’t believe the guy, but later on I realized that what was happening with his brain was affecting his eyesight.”
Trina is an attractive young woman whose face explodes in an expression of whatever emotion she is feeling. I immediately noticed that her dark eyes were dancing with a feeling of distress. “The day when I realized that Anthony was virtually blind was horrifying. He was in a walker and I was standing right in front of him. He must have thought that I left the room because he was yelling for me, and I was just inches from him.” Trina bowed her head and then instinctively turned towards the crib. “It was devastating to me to know that he would never see. They called it cortical visual impairment and declared Anthony legally blind. What it meant to me was that he would never see anything. I don’t know why, but it really bothered me that he would never see an airplane, or a sunset, or his brother.”
Trina turned and checked one of Anthony’s monitors. She casually touched the side of her son’s face, and then her face took on an expression of hopefulness. “Being blind wasn’t the worst thing in the world, though. Over the next few months, I grew used to the idea, determined to make things okay for my boys. Anthony was a big, strong boy, and he was very energetic.”
“Yeah, he used to jump all over me,” Nicholas said.
Trina cautioned Nicholas against interrupting, but I mentioned that it was okay with me. I wanted to hear Nicholas speak of his brother. My words of encouragement brought Nicholas closer to the bed. “Anthony was real strong,” Nicholas said. “He used to knock me over.”
“When Anthony was eight months old, we noticed that he was sort of leaning to one side.” Trina got down off the bed, put the rail into place, and then showed me Anthony’s stance from long ago. “He seemed to be in pain, and every once in awhile he’d just fall over. I was so naive, but you don’t consider the worst. I thought it was an ear infection.”
Trina couldn’t go more than a few moments without looking at the bed. Before long, I found that I was comfortable looking at Anthony in the crib.
“He would wake up crying. He would pull at his hair, like this.” Trina placed her hands on her hair at each temple. “’Hurt Momma! Hurt Momma!’ he would cry.”
“We had inserts placed in his shoes to help him with his balance. God, it seems a lifetime ago.”
“But, he was okay, right?” I asked. I’m sure it was a strange question to Trina, but what I meant was that he was still up and moving and responsive and curious, like a baby should be.
“He had so much spirit,” Trina said. “He was so determined to make things work. That’s why it’s so difficult now, because I knew him before! The loss of his eyesight was tragic, but we were adapting. We got bigger books and we changed things around. He was learning and he was developing. Looking back, maybe it was just false hope, or maybe I was missing something, but I didn’t have a medical degree. I was relying on his doctors, and they couldn’t foresee what was about to happen.”
Well, let me tell you a story of courage.
I chronicled the story of Trina Stinson and her sons Anthony and Nick in my book House of Miracles.
Here is the introduction of Anthony and his courageous mother and brother.
That is courage folks!
No disrespect to Caitlyn or her dress...
...Trina (and all those who suffer in anonymity) deserve the ESPY.
Chapter 3 - The Story of Anthony Stinson - Part I
“When you have no choice, mobilize the spirit of courage.” --- Jewish Proverb
There wasn’t a single thing in my life that prepared me to meet Anthony Stinson. My son had been very sick; there was no getting around that. I had suffered as he awaited surgery to remove the tumor in his chest. I wondered what I would do with the rest of my life if each and every one of my prayers weren’t answered. Fortunately, I was one of the lucky ones. My son, Jake, made a full recovery and is free to enjoy his life. Jake spends hours jumping on the trampoline, wrestling with his brothers, and playing baseball. He runs through the house with reckless abandon and sometimes it’s all I can do to keep from screaming at him to settle down and be quiet. Given Jake’s renewed energy, I certainly wasn’t prepared to meet Anthony Stinson.
When I arrived at the Stinson home, I was greeted with a placard on the front door that screamed: “Oxygen! No Smoking! No Open Flames! Keep Oil and Grease Away!”
I knocked lightly on the door and Anthony’s mother, Trina, opened the door quickly.
Upon seeing me she said, “Oh my God, I forgot you were coming.” A small dog tried to escape between my legs. Trina reached for the animal and caught it. “Come on, Corabell, get in here.”
I had met Trina through The Women & Children’s Hospital of Buffalo’s Family-Centered Care Program. I had been impressed with her dedication to the program and the fierce, protective love that she had shown when speaking about her sons, Anthony and Nicholas.
“Come in,” Trina said, “but excuse me for one moment.”
Trina escaped into the other room as I stood with my notebook at the ready. Before I’d made more than three steps into the home, a young boy greeted me. “Hi, I’m Nicholas,” he said. “Anthony’s in the living room.”
I smiled at Nicholas and followed him down the short hallway that led to the living room. My heart jumped into my throat as I saw Anthony in the hospital bed in the center of the room. My eyes went directly to the oxygen bottle at the front of the bed, and then I slowly scanned the room, taking in the fully stocked medical facility that served as the family living room. Across from the bed I noticed large letters strung across the wall as if to teach a child the alphabet.
“I’m sorry,” Trina said as she entered the living room. “Some days get real busy around here.”
On the wall underneath the alphabet were two large chalkboards noting the minute-by-minute care necessary to sustain Anthony’s life. I glanced at the medicine that needed to be administered and I even read the words of a warning posted to the nurses that assisted Trina in Anthony’s care. I was doing all I could not to look into the bed.
“You’ve met Nicholas,” Trina said, “And this is Anthony.”
I peered over Trina’s shoulder at Anthony as he lay in the bed. He was hooked to a number of machines, and my eyes instantly went to the trachea tube. “He’s a big boy,” I said.
“Yeah, he’s my baby,” Trina said.
“He’s bigger than me,” Nicholas said. “I’m two years older than him and he weighs more than me.”
Trina lowered the bed rails and sat beside her unresponsive son. “Thank you for doing this,” she said. “It’ll do me good to talk about Anthony and the hospital.”
I suddenly realized that I wasn’t going to be able to just sit in the room staring at what I was seeing. I gulped for air and offered a smile. “I hope I can do your son justice,” I said.
My eyes returned to the wall and the note posted for the nursing staff. I couldn’t help but feel the love in Trina’s printed words: Please, please, please – Always keep the side up on Anthony’s bed, even if you’re sitting in the chair. We take for granted that he doesn’t move, but there have been a few times that, from his back, he stretched and rolled on his side. If the rail were down, he would have fallen out of his bed. One of my biggest fears is to have him fall 3 feet to the ground, not being able to catch himself. It makes me sick to think of, so please, make sure his sides are up at all times.
“So, how do you want to do this?” Trina asked.
It dawned on me that I was just sitting there, trapped in a state of undeniable confusion. I strained for another breath of air. “How about at the beginning?” I asked.
“That would be Nicholas,” Trina said. “Nicholas was born on June 23, 1998. He’s a big help around here, aren’t you?”
Nicholas had strayed a few feet away from the living room, but he was hanging there on the periphery to see if he could add anything about his brother.
“I try to help,” Nicholas said softly. “I counted all the alcohol swabs.”
“Yes! You did,” Trina said. She shared a brief smile with her older son. “He’s a big help,” She whispered. “Anthony was born on June 15, 2000, almost exactly two years later. It was a normal pregnancy, but I was a week-and-a-half early. I had gone through childbirth with Nicholas, so I figured that I knew what I was doing, but the pain was excruciating – way worse than with Nicholas. They finally administered an epidural, which was wonderful. I spent the next couple of hours pushing and joking that I wanted to name my child Anthony Epidural instead of Anthony Thomas. Yet, as it turned out, I had to have an emergency C-section.”
Trina turned to the bed and adjusted Anthony’s covers. “I can remember being panicked about the C-section. I was in shock actually because I had always skipped over the sections about C-sections and I felt so unprepared, but little did I know that it was just the beginning of challenges Anthony and I would face. When they finally delivered Anthony, he was screaming. I held him for the very first time, and I can remember just shaking with joy. It had been a difficult challenge, but I had my reward. I wasn’t able to see Anthony for the first few hours because he was having respiratory and feeding difficulties, but when they finally got me to a room, I asked for a wheelchair because I couldn’t handle being away from him.” Trina gazed into the bed and a slight smile broke across her face. “Anthony had tubes and monitors hooked up to him, and that really was upsetting. I cried, but everyone said he was okay, and I was able to take him home with me.”
There wasn’t any doubt that Trina was replaying every second of the birth. She touched her youngest son’s shoulder and reached around to softly caress the side of his unresponsive face. “The first sign of trouble occurred when Anthony was four months old. I noticed that his eyes were crossing, so I took him to the eye doctor. I’ll never forget it; the ophthalmologist came out and said that Anthony could barely see. I didn’t believe the guy, but later on I realized that what was happening with his brain was affecting his eyesight.”
Trina is an attractive young woman whose face explodes in an expression of whatever emotion she is feeling. I immediately noticed that her dark eyes were dancing with a feeling of distress. “The day when I realized that Anthony was virtually blind was horrifying. He was in a walker and I was standing right in front of him. He must have thought that I left the room because he was yelling for me, and I was just inches from him.” Trina bowed her head and then instinctively turned towards the crib. “It was devastating to me to know that he would never see. They called it cortical visual impairment and declared Anthony legally blind. What it meant to me was that he would never see anything. I don’t know why, but it really bothered me that he would never see an airplane, or a sunset, or his brother.”
Trina turned and checked one of Anthony’s monitors. She casually touched the side of her son’s face, and then her face took on an expression of hopefulness. “Being blind wasn’t the worst thing in the world, though. Over the next few months, I grew used to the idea, determined to make things okay for my boys. Anthony was a big, strong boy, and he was very energetic.”
“Yeah, he used to jump all over me,” Nicholas said.
Trina cautioned Nicholas against interrupting, but I mentioned that it was okay with me. I wanted to hear Nicholas speak of his brother. My words of encouragement brought Nicholas closer to the bed. “Anthony was real strong,” Nicholas said. “He used to knock me over.”
“When Anthony was eight months old, we noticed that he was sort of leaning to one side.” Trina got down off the bed, put the rail into place, and then showed me Anthony’s stance from long ago. “He seemed to be in pain, and every once in awhile he’d just fall over. I was so naive, but you don’t consider the worst. I thought it was an ear infection.”
Trina couldn’t go more than a few moments without looking at the bed. Before long, I found that I was comfortable looking at Anthony in the crib.
“He would wake up crying. He would pull at his hair, like this.” Trina placed her hands on her hair at each temple. “’Hurt Momma! Hurt Momma!’ he would cry.”
“We had inserts placed in his shoes to help him with his balance. God, it seems a lifetime ago.”
“But, he was okay, right?” I asked. I’m sure it was a strange question to Trina, but what I meant was that he was still up and moving and responsive and curious, like a baby should be.
“He had so much spirit,” Trina said. “He was so determined to make things work. That’s why it’s so difficult now, because I knew him before! The loss of his eyesight was tragic, but we were adapting. We got bigger books and we changed things around. He was learning and he was developing. Looking back, maybe it was just false hope, or maybe I was missing something, but I didn’t have a medical degree. I was relying on his doctors, and they couldn’t foresee what was about to happen.”
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