Category Archives: General

Training Day

August 1, 2014 James Dibben 2 Comments

It has happened to a lot of medical professionals. We are sitting in CPR training and thinking to ourselves, “I am never going to use this stuff.” Something happened a couple of weeks ago that will keep me from ever thinking that again.

It was an afternoon just like any other. I left work at my regular time. Since I live out east, I always drive by Blue River Community College here in Independence. As I turned the corner on Jackson DR, I noticed a couple of ladies standing next to a man who was on a bicycle. As I got closer one of the ladies waved at me, and I noticed a look of panic on her face. I did a U-turn in the elementary driveway, drove back down Jackson and pulled into the college driveway.

When I got out of my car, I noticed that the gentleman was no longer on his bike. Instead, he was lying on the ground. One of the ladies told me he was bleeding, so I looked at his head first. He was bleeding, but on closer inspection I noticed that his color was incredibly pale. “Hello, sir, can you hear me,” I asked him? There was no response. I rolled him onto his back and put my ear next to his mouth, and I tried to feel for a carotid pulse. I couldn’t find one. He was dead.

“I’m going to have to do CPR,” I thought to myself. Just as I had finished checking for a pulse, a Jackson County Sheriff Deputy came around the corner. One of the ladies standing next to me ran out into the street and flagged the officer down. The officer put on her lights, pulled over, got out and grabbed an emergency kit from the trunk of her patrol car.

“I rode an ambulance for nine years before I became a police officer,” she told me.

“I’m an LPN,” I responded.

“Okay, let’s do this,” she told me.

She instantly moved over to the gentleman’s chest. She found his xiphoid process and began chest compressions. I grabbed a CPR mask from her emergency kit, and we started CPR.

“Help me count,” she told me in a very calm voice.

“One, two, three, four, five, six…” we counted together till we reached thirty.

“Breathe,” we yelled in unison and I gave my two breaths, blowing oxygen into his mouth twice.

We continued thirty-to-two cycles for a couple of minutes until Independence Fire made an appearance. We continued CPR while the paramedic on the fire truck got the gentleman connected to a defibrillator.

“He’s in v-tack,” he called out to us. “Get clear so I can shock him.”

He administered one shock and told us to continue CPR, and we did. After a couple more minutes the paramedic informed us that the gentleman was still in v-tack, which is a rapid heart beat, an irregularity that often results in death. He needed another shock.

“Clear,” he yelled and delivered another shock. “I’ve got sinus rhythm,” he called out to us.

I looked at the gentleman and the paramedic was correct. He was breathing again. The firefighters got him onto a backboard just as the ambulance showed up. The paramedic from the ambulance quickly checked things out, look at the sheriff deputy and me and said, “You guys just saved this man’s life.”

So the next time you are in CPR class, and you’re tempted to feel like you are wasting your time, think again. You never know when a complete stranger will need you. On that day, you will be glad you paid attention on training day.

Fathers, General

Memorial Day 2014

May 26, 2014 James Dibben 3 Comments

The man on the right is my father-in-law, Brian. In 1968 at the age of 17 he lied on his entrance paperwork and joined the Marines. He was at Camp Lejeune.

He was at Camp Pendleton.

Then he traveled across the Pacific Ocean and joined the most notorious war in US history, Vietnam.

The marines are notorious for being sent into an area first. Because of his job as a heavy equipment operator, he had the daunting task of being the first of the first. It was his job to dig artillery emplacements and clear fields of fire around small bases.

By his own accounts, as he operated this heavy machinery, he could hear the constant sounds of bullets whizzing by his head. He doesn’t talk about Vietnam much. I don’t think it’s because he won’t. I think it’s because he doesn’t want to burden us with what he saw and experienced while he was there.

After two years, in 1970 he returned to America. As he got off the plane he couldn’t even get a cup of coffee because the American Red Cross was charging $0.10 each. He returned home to his family in Odessa Missouri, and without any fanfare, and without any thought for himself, and without crawling into a corner like so many of us would, he went to work.

For the next 40 years he provided for those he loved. He worked in factories and machine shops for the first 20 years. Then he got a position at UMKC in Kansas City and worked on the college’s boilers and in maintenance for 20 years. During all this time he has suffered the lasting effects of Agent Orange. He has suffered severe hearing loss due to artillery fire and small arms fire. He has suffered a variety of physical limitations. He didn’t complain, he just did what a man does. He provided. Last January, after 40 years of work, he retired.

When I first met Brian I was kind of afraid of him. I have family members who were in Vietnam but Brian was the first man I knew who was willing to talk about it a little. He didn’t share a lot with me but when he did, and I realized how much he had been through, it just made me nervous. Simply put, I was intimidated.

It’s not like that today. I truly enjoy being around him. I can see the love for my family in his eyes. In the way he treats my daughters so well. Never a cross word, never an insult. I see his love in the way he bends down on a knee and checks the tomato plants my daughters are helping him grow. In the way he rubs the leaves between his fingers to gently smell the odor of the tomatoes that will eventually grow. The way he watches them work the ground, and the way he coaches them in the fine art of gardening. Something he is learning with them.

He’s a man who does the best he can with what he has. That jungle so far away tried to steal his spirit, but it couldn’t. He’s still a strong man who knows his place in this world, and he isn’t going to stop living his life.

Today I honor this man. I honor this man because 40 years ago, before I was even born, he honored me.

General

All The Fixin’s

April 14, 2014 James Dibben 2 Comments

Editor’s Note: This post isn’t about money, so don’t freak out!

If you have been through the Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University than you are familiar with his description of a woman’s security gland.

Basically, Dave teaches that much of a woman’s sense of security is attached to her financial wellbeing. During our 23 years of marriage Julie and I have seen several ups and downs financially. I can attest to the existence of the female security gland. It may not show up on any medical scans, but believe me, it does exist.

Just as many women have a security gland, many men have a fix it gland. The minute we are confronted with a problem we go into fix-it mode. The biggest challenge for men is trying to figure out when to try to fix something and when to just be an observer.

Two of my daughters are knee deep into their teen years. My fix-it gland is in a state of constant spasm. They make so many poor decisions, and they lack so much experience that teachable moments abound.

Last night Julie and I were lamenting some issues that we have been wrestling with for a while. We both agreed that we needed to spend some time in prayer, but as we examined the issue at hand we both found ourselves discouraged. We both felt completely prayed out. We have spent so much time on our knees in prayer that we both have run our words dry.

Last night we didn’t pray about the problem directly. Last night we prayed about our ability to rest in the midst of the storm. Just as we are not always the cause of the problem, we aren’t always going to be the solution either.

Sometimes, it’s not about fixing anything.

Sometimes, it’s just about having faith, and sometimes faith is harder than anything else.

Fathers, General

Movie Response: Saving Mr Banks

December 28, 2013 James Dibben 6 Comments

If I were to sit down and take inventory of my all-time-favorite moves, the classic “Mary Poppins” would make its way into the top ten. I have loved that movie since I was a kid. I love Dick Van Dyke and the way he presents himself on screen. I love Julie Andrews’ voice and the way she can be funny with a stern look on her face. I try to make room for this film at least once a year. It’s one of those movies where you learn something new about the characters every time you watch it.

When I watched it earlier this year I remember being a little caught off guard by the ending. Like many of these films from that era it is quite long at two hours and nineteen minutes. I confess that many times I am considerably distracted by the time I reach the last bit of the movie. Often I don’t even finish the last half hour as the evening has gotten away from me.

If you recall, the end of “Mary Poppins” gets a little dark. Jane and Michael just finished causing a “run” on the bank where Mr. Banks is employed, and he is on his way to face the bank board and his impending dismissal. It’s at this low point in the film where Mr. Banks finally lets the joy and wonderment that Mary Poppins has brought into the home overtake him. He rushes home, repairs a broken kite, and takes Jane and Michael out to play. Earlier this year this scene finally made sense to me. This movie has never been about the kids, it’s about their dad. It has always been about their dad. I have been watching this movie for forty years and I finally got it!

Having finally “got it” this last spring, I was ecstatic when I saw the trailer for “Saving Mr. Banks.” It quickly became my must-see movie for this year, and last night we were able to attend a showing. I was really excited to discover who Mr. Banks was, and why he needed saving. I was not prepared for how deeply emotional this film would be. The trailers don’t even come close to revealing what this film is about. The film spent as much time in Ms. Travers childhood as it did with her and Walt in 1966. We discover the deep and painful inspiration that drove her to write the “Mary Poppins” series.

I don’t want to spoil everything about this film for you, but I wouldn’t even be writing this review if “Saving Mr. Banks” didn’t relate directly to the overall theme of my writing. Walt Disney and P.L. Travers share something in common with each other; they both had deeply troubled fathers. Through the film “Mary Poppins” both P.L. Travers and Walt Disney wanted to honor the kind of fathers they knew their dads wanted to be, but for various reasons were unable to become. They did something that is in really short supply these days. They honored men who did not always act in very honorable ways.

I have a great dad. He would be the first to tell you he wasn’t perfect. Before I had kids of my own I was more critical of him than I should have been. It’s easier to criticize someone when you have no idea what it’s like to live their life. I’m not critical of him anymore. It’s a hard job, and no matter how hard a man tries he will fall short. I have made a pile of my own mistakes. I’ve yelled, I’ve slammed doors in frustration, I’ve thrown my arms up in disgust, and I’ve said the wrong things at the wrong time.

My hope is that when my daughters get older they will choose to focus on what I did right, and show me grace in the areas where I didn’t do such a great job. I don’t expect them to write books or make movies about me. I’ll just be happy if they still want to spend time with an old man who did the best he could for the girls he loved.

Anjelia, Fathers, General

My Dad Died

December 12, 2013 James Dibben 2 Comments

Last Saturday our church held its very first Foster Parent Day Out. We provided a place for foster parents to drop off their kids long enough to get some time to themselves to accomplish whatever they needed. We hosted about fifty kids from 11:00AM till 4:00PM. There were activities for every age. Kids from all over the Jackson County area came and spent the day playing foosball, air hockey, pool and the Wii. There were movies, a gym, crafts and fresh popcorn from a local theater.

I spent the last couple hours of the day at the rock wall in the Kids Zone. The Kids Zone is where we have our weekly children’s service. There is a ping pong table, two foosball tables, two air hockey tables, and in the back of the room, a rock wall that is at least fifteen feet wide and just as tall. When the rock wall is open, there is generally a pretty long line of kids dressed in safety gear ready to go. Last Saturday was no exception, especially since most of these kids have never had the chance to climb a rock wall before.

The oldest kids in our area were about ten, which is a perfect age for the rock wall. To a ten-year-old that wall is four times their height. It must appear massive in size, and it must seem like a real challenge. I spent the last two hours of the day hoisting a group of about four girls up and down that rock wall. My youngest daughter, Anjelia, was in the group as well. Being ten herself, she hit it off with them instantly.

With about an hour left in the day one of the girls looked at Anjelia, motioned towards me and said, “Is he your dad?” Anjelia answered in the affirmative. Without any hesitation the little girl looked at me and said, “My dad died.” She said it so quickly and so matter-of-factly that I was stunned. All I could think to say was, “Oh, I’m sorry.” She shrugged her shoulders and began climbing the wall. With tears welling up in my eyes I pulled on the rope as quickly and smoothly as I could. She flew to the top of the rock wall, giggling the entire way. I held her steady at the top of the wall. She spun herself around and looked out across the room and gave me a smile. I was ready to adopt her on the spot. I wanted to snatch her up in my arms and promise to be her dad forever. I would have signed the paperwork that very second. I know I can’t replace her birth father, but I was ready to give her 100% of my effort till the day I die.

For the last couple of years I have played around with the idea of adopting a son. Not right away, but eventually for sure. The idea of raising a son sounds fun. A different set of challenges and a different set of rewards. Completely new territory. After Saturday I just don’t feel the same way. I realized that after over fifteen years of being a dad to daughters, I have a hard time visualizing myself doing anything else.

I’m used to it all the Barbie dolls and teddy bears. The tiaras and princess dresses. The various sizes of of ladies undergarments slung all over the bathroom floors. The long-hair-filled brushes and clogged drains. The trash cans overflowing with feminine hygiene products. The long waits on Sunday mornings while five women jockey for mirror and bathroom time. The posters and magazine photos of boy bands taped up on all the room walls. The seemingly never ending text messages from gentlemen callers, and the frequent slumber parties complete with boisterous giggling.

At one time I was hopeful that raising a son was in my future. Last Saturday reminded me that I was meant to do something else. I was meant to raise women.