Identifiable Information

So I can't sleep due to a recent panic attack. Before I get into how that went down, here is the back story:

I had a work party at the Lindon Aquatics Center. Porter had previously committed to do a speaking engagement, so I called up my sister-in-law to see if I could bring my niece with me in order to avoid looking like a total loser (plus she's rad, and I love her to pieces).

Around 6 o'clock this evening, I went down and picked up Mares. I talked to Porter on my way down and he seemed perfectly fine. Mares and I headed to the party and we had a grand time. She ate two giant snow cones (going for the 'Fun Aunt of the Year Award' over here) and we went around the lazy river probably ten times. She eventually got cold and we decided to head home.

A little after 8:30 p.m., the two of us stroll into the ladies' room so I can get her out of her wet suit and into her clothes. She quickly became fascinated with the hand dryer, so I let her play around with it. I could feel my phone vibrating in my bag, so I took it out and didn't recognize the number calling me. I ignored it and then checked my text messages. I had 6 of them. I don't even have 6 friends, so I was super excited. My excitement quickly turned to disappointment when I realized that 5 of them were from the number that had just called me and one was from my mom. (Not that I don't love texts from you mom, it just put a damper on that brief moment where I felt kind of popular)

I scrolled through the messages and learned that this person contacting me was the man who had organized for Porter to come speak. Turns out Porter hadn't shown up and he was over an hour late.

My thought process at this point:

1. Where in the crap is that kid?
2. I'm going to kill him if he blew this off.
3. That's so unprofessional.
4. I should probably stop Mares from unrolling all the toilet paper in that stall.
5. That's not really like Porter, he's always very on top of these things. He takes this inspirational business seriously.
6. We aren't in a drought are we? Because now Mary has turned on all the sinks in this bathroom.
7. If my bathroom toddler management skills are any sort of predictor of future parenting, I'm probably going to suck as a Mom.
8. What if something terrible happened to Porter?
9. OMG he's probably dead in a ditch somewhere.
10. Why did my parents move across the country? It's too late in D.C. to call my mom and find out what I'm supposed to do here.

I ended up calling Porter seven times in a row, despite this guy telling me he had already to contact him. The call would go straight to voice mail or ring for days. I then called my sister. Then Porter's sister. Then my brothers (not to find out where Porter was, but to see if we were still planning on hitting up that new Disney Pixar movie this weekend. We are totes still on). I text Porter's friends. I didn't really know what else to do, so I packed up my favorite teeny tot and we headed to Provo.

On our way home, my stomach started to churn. Something HAD to be wrong. There was literally no other explanation. I pulled over to the side of the road and decided to call the police.

I should add that I haven't exactly had positive experiences with the law here in Utah. Granted, my interaction with them has been limited (this being my second encounter, you can read about the West Valley City Police Department and all their glory first if you would like...it will probably enhance your experience reading this post). Also important to note, I am extremely grateful for the men and women who risk their lives to protect us. Unfortunately, these stressful times dealing with police make much better stories, so that's why I'm writing about it.

I looked up random phone numbers for the Salt Lake City Police Department since that's the last known place Porter would have been. This wasn't an emergency, so I tried some random number.

Random PD Lady: "Hello, Salt Lake Police Department. How may I direct your call?"

Me: "I actually don't really know. I can't get a hold of my husband who works up in Salt Lake. He was supposed to speak at an event tonight and didn't show up. He's not answering his phone. Is there any way I can find out if his car has been involved in an accident or anything like that?"

Random PD Lady: "Can you tell me the address of where he works?"

Me: "Ummm, I don't actually know it (minus 5 wifey points for not knowing this). He works for Goldman Sachs. Is there anyway you can look that up?"

Random PD Lady: "Sure. So is it Goldman as in G-O-L-D-M-A-N and Sachs as in S-A-C-K-S?"

I literally laughed out loud. I know, it's immature, but really? Goldman SACKS? I sort of wanted her to look that up. Imagine the pornographic search results. Freaking hilarious. Wait, my husband could be dead, time to be an adult.

Me: "No, it's Sachs as in S-A-C-H-S." Hahaha, sacks.

Random PD Lady: "Ooohhhh (giggle), I found that address."

At this point, I'm super confused as to why we are looking up Porter's address. Can she help me get in touch with someone he works with? Because I literally don't even know the name of his boss...

Me: "I'm getting pretty worried, is there like a missing person alert I could do or something?"

Random PD Lady: "Of course, just call the non-emergency dispatch."

Ok, great. Should have done that to start, but I'm an idiot. Now I call the non-emergency dispatch. I will skip the pleasantries and get right into it our convo.

Non-Emergency Dispatch Lady: "When was the last time you saw your  husband?"

Me: "Well technically not since last night. He sort of works a crazy schedule."

Non-Emergency Dispatch Lady: "Do you know what he is wearing?"

Me: "I don't, but he would be in a dress shirt and slacks. I don't know if that helps."

Non-Emergency Dispatch Lady: "Can you provide a physical description?"

I so badly just wanted to say, "Yeah, he's ridiculously good looking." But I withheld. Once again I have to remind myself that this is serious and Porter could be really hurt.

Me: "Yes, he's white. He's about 6'1'' and 180 lbs. He has dark hair and blue eyes. He's also missing his right arm, I probably should have led with that. It's like completely gone, so there isn't a nub or anything. Nubs kind of freak me out, but his is a clean cut at the shoulder."

I can feel the word vomit at this point, so I stop there.

Non-Emergency Dispatch Lady: "Ok, great. Any identifiable information?"

Are you serious right now? How many dark haired, blue eyed guys with only ONE ARM are out there? That's about as identifiable as you can freaking get! I'm sure she probably has a script or something she is following, but usually that information stands out.

Me: "Is only having one arm not identifiable enough?"

I probably should have been more kind, but I was legit on the verge of a panic attack now. Mary is singing "Let It Go" in the back seat, and it's about the only thing keeping me calm at this point.

Non-Emergency Dispatch Lady: "Well that could help, but does he have any scars or tattoos?"

That could help? You are trying to tell me that a tramp stamp would be more helpful than the fact that he only has 3/4's of his limbs?! Now I'm getting sassy. To her credit, she was seriously being so nice and trying to keep me calm, but I wasn't  having it anymore.

Me: "Well he has a scar on his head, but that's covered by his hair. He has another thick one on his neck, but he is probably in a collared shirt and a tie. He's also probably in slacks, so you won't be able to see the long one down the back of his calf."

Non-Emergency Dispatch Lady: "Ok, well we will focus on the missing arm in this case then."

Duh.

Me: "Great, so what do we do now?"

Non-Emergency Dispatch Lady: "I need you to gather a couple of photos of your husband. An officer will be contacting you soon. You may want to call around to hospitals to see if he has been admitted for some reason."

Is this real life? Porter can't really be hurt. I have no idea what I would do with myself if something happened to him. Mary and I continue on our way back home. I rolled up to the Golding residence and immediately ask my brother-in-law, Dale, if he had heard from Porter. Nothing. I go inside and ask Mo if she had heard from him. Nothing.

Now the panic really starts to set in. Shout out to Mo right here because she stayed completely calm and immediately got on the phone. I started calling hospitals in and around Salt Lake. The answer was consistent, no Porter Ellett had been admitted. Mo was trying to get a hold of people who also work at Goldman Sachs.

I'm on the phone with yet another hospital when Porter starts to call. I hesitated for a second, preparing myself for a random person on the other end of the line telling me something tragic has happened.

Except the exact opposite happens. I answer, only to hear Porter laughing.

"I'm totally fine," he tells me, "I got lost trying to find where I was supposed to meet this group out here in the middle of nowhere so I didn't have service."

You mean to tell me that you have just been driving around for hours, lost, and didn't think to notify anyone? I have single-handedly (no pun intended) instilled unnecessary fear in our loved ones lives because you didn't pull over to a gas station and ask to use a land-line or something?

Now that I knew he was alive, I wanted to kill him. I can't do that though, investigators would be able to identify him too quickly for me to get away with it. Those blasted identifiable scars would give it all away.

Until next time,

Carlie

Dime Piece

Haven't updated in a while because my life is so overwhelmingly glamorous I just can't find the time anymore.

And by glamorous, I mean Porter works a lot (blast those ridiculous hours spent working at Goldman Sachs) so we haven't had too many stories to report. BUT we did get to see each other for 5 whole days in April. It was pure magic.

It was on our little extended weekend getaway that I posted this picture to Insta/FB.

First of all, I need to disclose just how creepy Facebook is. One day, I'm scrollin' through my feed when I notice a Nike ad. It featured the above t-shirt. How the crap did Facebook know that my husband only wears Nike, has one arm, and that he loves shooting hoops? And we all thought face recognition was scary...

Getting off track. Sorry. So, I see this shirt and I immediately purchase it. Obvi. I thought it was hilarious. Because it is.

Well my favorite blog troll doesn't find my sense of humor appealing for some bizarre reason. If you are unfamiliar with our frequent hater, you are going to want to read this post as well.

I get an email/fb message nearly every time I post. Since we were on our anniversary trip, I totally forgot about an exchange the two of us had.

Fortunately, I documented it.

Well after that, the troll left me alone for a bit. But then my mom posted this picture:

Pretty innocent, no? Just a little family outing with my cute siblings and our favorite teeny tike.

The troll got pissed for a new reason:

I get asked about this crazy a lot, so I figured I better provide you with an update and a reason to smile.

Until next time,

Carlie

Sleep Talkin'

For someone who only has ¾’s of his limbs, Porter sure knows how to hog our bed and keep me from ever getting a good night’s sleep.

Porter and I never slept in the same room until we were married. Had I ever been present for one of Porter’s nightly routines, I might not have married him.

 **Boy you best be grateful for those Mormon standards right about now**

Jokes. I still would have.

Homie flails that one arm of his all night and screams at the top of his lungs in his sleep.

Over the summer, I woke up with tears in my eyes and covered in blood from Porter swinging his arm into my nose in the middle of the night. I thought I had cleaned it all up, but the next morning he informed me I still had remnants of the attack on my face.

“Hey Car, did you have a bloody nose or something last night?” he asks me when we wake up.

No, your brick of an arm swatted the crap out of my face. #ThanksFoAxin

Today I write this post out of sheer sleep-deprived frustration.

I wake up at 4 a.m. every morning, so each second of precious slumber is invaluable.  

Last night, Porter decided to dream about coaching. I guess Dean Smith’s passing has taken an emotional toll on this poor Tar Heels fan.

I woke up at 12:34 a.m. to him screaming at me to “get down the court and put a body on their big man.”

At first I giggled because my husband had just told me to go put my body on a big man. Fine. If you say so, honey, I can make that happen. LaMarcus Aldridge anyone?

I rolled to the edge of the bed, the only piece of it I get at night, and eventually fell asleep.

About an hour later, I wake up to him screaming, “Why are you afraid to draw contact??”

Ummm, so you want me to draw contact with someone now? If Kyle Korver is guarding me, I’ll take you up on that. (THAT SMIRK THO)

 

Despite that being my second interruption of the night, I decided to let it go.

You know what one of the most annoying things in the world is?

Waking up like 10 minutes before your alarm goes off. You can’t really fall back to sleep, so now you are just out 10 extra minutes of deep sleep.

Porter’s coaching dream must have lasted all night because just a few minutes before I would have to get out of bed, he yelled, “Is that all you got?”

I was so pissed.

Yeah Coach Porter, it’s all I got because I’m running on like 2.5 hours of sleep.

Until next time,

Carlie

Raise Both Of Your Arms, Sir.

It's probably time to update this blog. My cousin, Ryan, just got back from NY and stopped by last weekend. One of the first questions he asked was, "So do you have any new one-arm stories?"

Blogging fail.

Yes, yes we do. I have just been a slacker. 

So I will be combining my Festival of Trees recap with a classic one-arm tale.

If you just want the one-arm story, skip to the end. If you aren't a grinch, read about our experience helping out the kids at Primary Children's Hospital.

Festival of Trees happened this month. My mom made the journey from Sac-Town to help me out. I was ridiculously sick for the whole event, so I did not get to enjoy it like I would have liked to. 

My amazing Aunt Kim came and dominated the decorating. Seriously, I don't know what we would have done without her. My grandparents were also champions. My grandma spent hours painting nutcrackers with me and setting up the display. My mother-in-law, Mary, and my sister-in-law, Monique, wired all of the ornaments on. My brother Derek and Porter showed up for like the last five seconds. Porter gets credit for hooking us up with a signed football from the BYU football team, signed game programs, a signed basketball from the BYU basketball team, as well as game-worn cleats and gloves. Derek just gets credit for being in the pics:)

The process went down like so:

I'm all about that base...of the tree.

Getting our fluff on.

Wire machines.

Kim the ribbon master...two years running.

Comes all the way out to Utah just to serve those in need.

Grandpa just had back surgery, but he did help with the painting (as you can see it made it to his forehead).

Coming along....

Thanks to Porter and his sweet hook-ups with BYU football, we had cleats, gloves, and face masks.

Grandma was all about the details.

Tree topper.

The nutcrackers Grandma and I spent hours painting.

So. Much. Blue.

Aunt Kim still doing her thing.

My decorating crew.

Lots of BYU gear/memorabilia.

A Cougar fan's dream.

The floor display.

Our poster contraption.

Porter and I with the finished product...and the BYU shirts weren't even planned. #winning

My hero.

The whole gang.

Once again it was a success. There were a few people who fought over it when it came to the auction. It sold for a LOT of money (like seven times the amount we spent to make the tree). It would not have been possible without those who contributed (both physically and financially). 

The day after opening night, Porter had to travel out to Philly. He was doing one of his inspirational speaking gigs.

In order to get on the plane, Porter went through security. Instead of going through the traditional metal detector, Porter went through one of these bad boys:

I know my last blog was on airport staff as well, and I promise I'm not trying to pick on them, it just seems they struggle with people who are a little different. 

Porter walked into it and faced the sticker showing him how to stand. He spread his feet apart and lifted up his arm just like the example shown on the sticker image in front of him. 

The TSA worker standing on the other side started to get frustrated with him when she only saw one arm lifted above his head.

TSA Worker: "Sir, could you please stand exactly like the example on the sticker?"

Porter: "Ummm, I am."

TSA Worker: "No sir, you need to put both arms above your head."

Porter: "I only have one."

Now the TSA worker thinks Porter is messing with her.

TSA Worker: "What? Sir, remove your jacket and your hat."

Porter does what he's asked.

TSA Worker: "Oh. I guess you only do have one arm. Ok, go ahead..."

One day those airport staffers will get it right. Today is just not that day.

Until next time,

Carlie

Emergency Exit Rejects

The past couple of weeks have been special. Two Sunday’s ago, we were on our way to a baby blessing. Porter was driving and I was in the passenger’s seat. I was looking up the address of the church building we needed to go to when my phone slipped from my fingers and fell in between the seat and the center console. I unbuckled my seat belt so I could reach under my chair and grab it. When I looked up, Porter was slamming on the breaks and our car wasn’t stopping. We slid right into the middle of the intersection and crashed into a car that was turning left. To brace myself, I had put my hands out on the dash only to be met by the exploding airbag.

The next thing I remember was a lady opening my door and trying to get me out of the car. I heard her say something about smelling smoke and I needed to get out. My neck and chest felt like they were on fire. When I finally came to my senses, I got out of the car as people started telling me I needed to get to a hospital. I kept telling everyone I was fine, especially since I couldn’t really say what hurt on me at the time.

I eventually made my way to the doctor. The airbag broke my finger and sprained my wrist. I always imagined airbags being soft pillow-like contraptions, but they are the exact opposite. Since I was leaning forward in my seat, the airbag went straight into my chest and burned the skin on my neck and chest. It sucked, but I’m pretty grateful it wasn’t worse. Like I said, I wasn’t securely fastened to my seat, so I could have easily flown through the front window.

Our car was totaled. I’m currently wearing a ridiculous contraption on my wrist and finger (which I only plan on wearing for another week…two tops). I promise there is a reason for this ridiculously long injury update. The weekend following our accident, Porter and I made our way to Granite Bay via Southwest for my baby brother's "Senior Night" and to go to Apple Hill (obvi).

 
We got on the first plane and looked for an available seat. We found one and started to put our bags in the overhead compartments. I was struggling because I tend to over pack, so my bag was super heavy, and I only had my one hand to lift with (since the other was in a brace).

Upon noticing I was having a difficult time, Porter started to help me. The flight attendant was standing right next to us, sighing in frustration as we were “holding up the line.” I tried to joke about the situation, making a comment about how there are only two hands between Porter and I (I guess I need to temporarily change the name of the blog to two arms, two people, one good story?). The flight attendant didn’t find it very funny. Since she was on my right side, I just figured maybe she didn’t see that I had a busted left arm, so she missed the joke.

The flight attendant continued to provide us with unwanted attention. I ultimately assumed the flight attendant was just grumpy; after all, it is a tough job.  But in reality, she was panicking inside. It turns out, we had sat down in the emergency exit row and she was trying to find a way to tell us we couldn’t sit there.

She stared at Porter’s right side (he was in the isle seat), and frantically tried to come up with a way to tell us we would have to move. By law, you have to be “physically able” to assist other passengers in the event of an emergency, which requires two able hands.

I could literally see her racking her brain for a nice way to tell us we needed to find another seat.

I started to giggle, and in an effort to conceal my laughter, I gave the flight attendant the perfect scapegoat.

“You two can’t sit here,” the flight attendant finally blurted out.

“Why not?” I asked (with a sassy tone most likely).

*Yes, I did push her buttons, mostly because I wanted to see her botch an explanation. Too cruel? Absolutely. But it’s a perk of the situation, and I fully intend on using all of them.

“Well you can’t sit here (insert silent pause here)…because you have a hurt hand,” she explained.

“Oh, but he can?” I refuted, pointing at Porter.

She paused for a second, fumbling though her words. I thought about stepping in and ending the awkwardness, but where is the fun in that?

“HAAAAA!” Porter exclaimed for an obnoxiously long period of time while simultaneously putting the flight attendant out of her misery, “Looks like you are the handicapped one now!”

Touché, flight attendant, touché.

We have since learned about the magic of pre-boarding to avoid these types of encounters. Turns out, all we have to do it walk up to the counter, say Porter doesn’t have an arm, and we get on the plane before the fancy business select folks do.

Until next time,

Carlie

*Remember there are only 10 more days to donate to our tree! We just passed the 50% mark of our goal and we could use any and all help we can get! Thank you for all the love and support!

At It Again

Jack and Sally went out on the town this Halloween. Aside from scaring our niece, Mary, I would say it was a success.

And now that Halloween is over, we can get to the good stuff.

A couple of weeks ago, my grandma and I made a trip up to Primary Children's Hospital. There was a meeting for the Festival of Trees (read about our experience last December here), and she was kind enough to go with me. I was still a little on the fence about donating a tree to this wonderful cause. Not because I didn't want to, but because I was a little hesitant about asking for help (again).

Following the meeting, we started to make our way out of the hospital. We waited for the elevator to get up to our floor and when the doors opened up, we could see a little four-year-old girl sitting in a wheelchair. She was hooked up to several machines, needles pressed into her tiny arms, and tears stained her pale cheeks.

Grandma and I got in the elevator after our little encounter with that beautiful girl. After pressing the button to return to the bottom floor, I looked at my grandma who was starting to cry.

"And that's why you need to do this...," she whispered. "Because of the little children who need your help."

So we are donating a tree again, and I couldn't be more excited about it. Last year, we donated a tree in appreciation of all the things PCH did for Porter following his accident. This year we are doing a BYU sports-themed tree (because Porter works for the football team, so we can get some sweet stuff) and also to honor the biggest Cougar fan we know.

And since I know he is definitely reading this, I might as well let him know via the blog.

Dad, this year's tree is in honor of you. Despite receiving a terminal cancer diagnosis, you never quit on us. I will never forget that devastating phone call (which came just weeks after I got married) and thinking even though I had moved onto a new stage in my life, I still needed my Dad. You went through chemo with a smile on your face (at least in front of us kids) and always remained positive. Even when it appeared you would lose that fight, you battled back. If only the BYU football team had a little more "Howard" in 'em... :)

I have had a few people ask me how they can donate and so we have set up a site again. You can find it here. We truly appreciate any and all help we can get.

If you have any problems following the link, please let me know. You can also copy and paste the below link into your browser:

http://www.gofundme.com/gmbfe8

All money raised will go towards our tree and if there is any left over, we will donate the remainder of it to the hospital like we did last year.

No child is ever turned away from PCH due to inability to pay. Funds raised at events like Festival of Trees are a huge blessing to families and children during their time of need. Remember to come out and see all of the decorated trees December 3rd-6th at the Sandy Expo Center.

We truly appreciate all of your help. This will be the last year we will have the opportunity to do this, so we want to go out with a bang!

Costume Crisis

Ok, so it's not really a crisis. I'm just a fan of alliteration. We can't decide on Halloween costumes this year...too many options. And by too many, I mean just 4. This is what we have come up with and we want our friends/family help to decide. Here are the contenders:

1. Jack and Sally from the Nightmare Before Christmas

Sorta creepy, but it is Halloween. Rag tag Sally is known for losing her limbs.

Pros: It's a classic.
Cons: Porter has to be a girl. Again.


2. Captain America and the Winter Soldier

 Who doesn't love the captain and his BFF in action?

Pros: I get to be Captain America. All the reason I need.
Cons: We have to use the freaky prosthetic arm as a prop.


3. Nemo and Dory

Who doesn't love this Disney Pixar classic? We are worried people won't understand the reference though.

Pros: It works because Nemo has a "hurt fin." And it's the right one. Totes perf.
Cons: I was a nautical-type character last year.

4. Captain Hook and the Crocodile

Pros: Another animal costume? Yes please.
Cons: Too cliche? Maybe.

So there you have it. Leave a comment on FB or the blog post directly and let us know which "one-arm" themed costume you would like to see us rock on Halloween. Happy Fall!

Just as a reminder, we were Soul Surfer and a shark last year. Topping that may be difficult.