J's World: Celebrating a super day some thought we would never see

I’ve always loved Super Bowl Sunday.

Aside from Christmas, it could be my favorite day.

Family, food, football.

Tradition.

Something I’ve always appreciated, and looked forward to.

Football has been a focal point of my life as far back as I can remember. I’m a lifelong Chicago sports fan, every professional team. Well, other than the White Sox. I’m the first Bartz in about four generations not to be born in Chicago.

Blame it on hereditary.

My first real recollection of the Super Bowl is more than 30 years old. I was maybe 8 at the time. My beloved Chicago Bears were the Monsters of the Midway, on a Super Bowl Shuffle toward a title. My father, now retired, spent his career in health care.

Radiology.

He had the chance to X-Ray me whenever I broke something during my own football career. I kept him busy.

Anyway, a radiologist he worked with invited him to a Super Bowl party. My dad brought me. It was the first time I ever saw an NFL game on a big screen television.

Granted, this was 1986. Not exactly UHD. But, at maybe 8 years old, in my world, it was more than I ever could imagine. My heroes at that point — Mike Singletary, Walter Payton, Jim McMahon, William Perry — were larger than life. I remember sitting there in awe as the Bears demolished New England.

I’ve sat at front row in the living room for just about ever Super Bowl since. But there is once exception.

Super Bowl XXXIX in 2005. New England against Philadelphia.

In the days and weeks leading up to that particular Super Bowl, our plans were no different. We’re Bears fans. But the Super Bowl is still a celebration regardless of which teams take the field. But things didn’t go according to plan that weekend.

New England and Philly were set to meet Super Bowl Sunday, Feb. 6, 2005. My oldest Alyson, was scheduled to make her debut Friday, Feb. 4. Again, things did not go as planned.

A difficult birth led to my unexpected ride in an ambulance with Alyson from the old Valley Hospital to Providence Medical Center in Anchorage. It was a cesarean section birth, and my wife, Amber, was stuck in Palmer in recovery.

From the moment we arrived at Providence, I could not leave Alyson’s side. One of the best moments of my life came that night. About 10 p.m., doctors pulled the ventilator.

Room air for my baby.

Alyson was in the Providence NICU for five weeks. Amber and I stayed there the entire time. Former Frontiersman publisher Kari Sleight gave me the opportunity to be there with my daughter every single day, a gift I will cherish always.

I’m not quite sure how much I slept during the first few days of Alyson’s life. Not only was a first-time father, but I was clueless when it came to kids. My wife was an hour away in recovery. My only saving grace was a Providence NICU nurse, Dawn Alger, a family friend who happened to be working that day. Dawn is the first person I saw when we entered the unit, and probably the only reason I was able to maintain any sort of composure.

By Sunday, Amber was able to join us. We were given a room inside the hospital so we didn’t have to leave Alyson. I remember that Sunday, walking through a waiting area in search of a vending machine. I caught a glimpse of the Super Bowl on a television in the corner. I couldn’t watch.

It was the first Super Bowl I missed since I was in elementary school.

The following weeks were tough. There was no clear diagnosis, and doctor after doctor after doctor debated what led to the obstacles Alyson faced, and in some regards still faces to this day.

I was naive. Scratch that. I was clueless. Since the moment I was sitting back in my living room watching a rerun of “King of Queens,” when Amber first told me I was going to be a father my mind was in constant scramble.

I had no clue.

And when it came to the medical concerns, I didn’t understand the depth we were dealing with.

But apparently it was the same for the doctors.

We were told in February of 2005 that Alyson would never see her first birthday.

Alyson is turning 13 Sunday.

Alyson is the strongest person I will ever know. Hospitalizations. Surgeries. It doesn’t matter. She battles. Cerebral Palsy and Mitochondrial Disease are the official diagnoses, with a compromised immunity.

Super Bowl XX in 1986, I’ll never forget. But as much as I love the Chicago Bears, it will never come close to Feb. 4, 2018, celebrating Alyson’s 13th birthday. I’ll be watching the Super Bowl with Alyson. New England and Philadelphia. The two teams that were playing on Alyson’s third day of life in the hospital. The game that I couldn’t bear to watch. Sunday, we’ll watch those two teams, at home.

Together.

Truly a super day.

Contact Mat-Su Valley Frontiersman sports editor Jeremiah Bartz at sports@frontiersman.com.