In Dean’s case this is literally what doctors think happened.
Looking back, it was just about a month prior. Dean had come home from a game saying he had never been hit by a hockey puck so hard in all his life. The refs do wear padded protection, although not like players. And this particular puck struck him in the top of his inner thigh just between his padded breezers. My response was simply “Honey, be careful.” That’s it.
In the past he’d been roughed up and lived to tell about it. One game, he broke his nose from a stick to the face. He’d taken other puck hits over the years to the back of his shoulder, the back of his hand and even the back of his calves. Have you ever watched a game? And believe it or not, he even lost the tip of his finger after the Zamboni door jammed and while he and another referee struggled to shut it, his middle digit got caught in the crossfire. Thankfully a surgeon was able to reattach it. To be concerned with his most recent puck hit, wasn’t even a worry in the cards for either of us.
If only we had been aware of a blood clot scare.
Timing is everything.
FRESNO *6:00 am PST
It was about 6 am Fresno PST time, and I didn’t want to call and wake Dean that morning, to give him my trip info of the day. It was early, and he would most likely be sleeping as he needed to skate three games that day. Plus, he had games the night before. Thankfully, we spoke for about 20 minutes after those games. How I wish I had known those would be the last moments I would ever hear his voice with mine. If so, I would have never ended the call.
Instead, I sent a text instead, giving him my trip lineup of the day. “Leaving Fresno, heading to Dallas, then Hartford after that. Talk to you later xo. ”
After sending my text, I went to board the aircraft and upon returning to my phone to put it into airplane mode, only then did I realize he had responded to that text within minutes. Unfortunately, now it was too late for me to call…as we were ready to push back from the gate to leave.
His last and final contact he would ever have with me was in a text. It simply said: “GO VIKES.” If only I would have called to wake him, even if for one last time.
DALLAS *12:00 pm CST
Arriving into Dallas, the crew had enough time to grab lunch before heading to Harford. I went to get La Madeline tomato soup, a warm favorite on this chilly January day then would head to my next departure gate. A15.
Waiting for the inbound aircraft to deplane, I sat thinking I’d send Dean a message to check in and respond to his last text. I wrote: “Skate safe…Love you… Do you think the Vikes have it in them?” After hitting send (Dallas time at *12:15pm) I thought to myself, “Well, that was dumb of me, Dean’s on the ice and won’t even get this message.”
If only he had.
I then went to the airplane, ate my soup and got ready to board passengers for Connecticut.
HARTFORD *7:00 pm EST
It was about just before 7:00 pm EST. I arrive at the hotel about an hour prior to contacting him. I knew the football game was kicking off soon so I called my mom first to check in, followed by getting a Subway sandwich for dinner. I love Subway. It’s a go-to on many layovers. They are often close to our stay, somewhat healthy, and reasonable in price. The hotel van was kind enough to drive me within a few miles. And on this night my receipt would total $7.77. How lucky for me!
My mom even asked what Dean was up to. Thinking I was letting him get settled as the game was about to begin, I said I’m sure he’s parked in front of the TV with a Leinenkugel beer, grilling something for dinner as we speak, all in his glory ready for the game.
We had met in college at UW La Crosse. Home of the Jacob Leinenkugel Brewery Company. That’s all it took over those college days of bartending, house parties and brewery tours for him to become a fan favorite of the beverage. Yet, little did I know as I would soon find out, I couldn’t have been farther from my own imagination.
Back at the hotel I make my first call. Where is he? He is supposed to be home. A few minutes pass. I make a second. Nothing. Now I send a text. Why is he not answering my calls or even text messages after asking him to call me at a commercial break? At least two commercials have gone by so now I start to teeter on emotion, not sure if I should be worried about him or upset with him. Since this wasn’t like him not to check in all day, at least with a text telling me his game plan. Trying to reason with the obvious, I think maybe he’s charging his phone, or maybe he decided to meet up with friends to watch the game. Maybe this, maybe that, maybe something in my gut doesn’t feel right.
I finally thought to call our home phone line. When it rang, with no answer, I logged in to retrieve voice messages. That’s when the unthinkable happened. There were three messages waiting. The first was the Arena staff looking for me, the second message was from the Police department, and the third message … silent.
Now anybody knows, if you have the police looking for you at any time, something isn’t right. Anxiety now kicks in. I’ve been told I have a vivid imagination, it’s true. Yet knowing the magnitude of the sport I started to think of the possibilities. Did he call a bad game and get shot outside the arena? Did he hit the boards of the rink and break his neck? Is he in the hospital? Is he lying in a coma? These things have been known to happen. And then the worst thought of all… Is he…Dead? No, he can’t be dead. Ugh. Don’t even think like that.
Sick with worry, I immediately call the number the officer left in his message. The dispatcher on the line said the officer had already left for the day. Saying she would look into it and get back to me within an hour. An HOUR!? I can’t wait an hour. Oh, dear God…where is my husband? On to the next number, the Arena. Now, a young girl answers. I tell her I received a message from the general manager. They are looking for me. It’s about my husband. She calmly tells me, she didn’t work earlier in the day and can’t give me information. Can’t? Please, why not!? I remember a desperate plea begging her to tell me what happened to my husband. She only said she would have the General Manager of the arena call me. Meantime, I call my mom to tell her something bad has happened to Dean.
Frantic, we wait.
Looking up and around, I pace the room, I see white everywhere and in one final prayer before I would get the news, I shout to the ceiling “God, I trust you. Just keep him safe.”
The minutes moved on, yet I stood still.
Finally about 20 minutes later my cell phone rings. I gasp for air. My heart hurts already knowing the bearer of bad news is on the line.
Who knew within the hour after sending my text from Dallas, Dean’s life would alter to the point of no return. Jim said he stopped the game about 11:40 am MST, about 20 minutes after I would send my last text at *12:15pm CST from a different time zone, one hour apart.
Everything to try and save Dean C. Blixt would ultimately fail. Strangely enough, I would later find out Dean’s time of death was the same time I sent my text to him from Dallas due to time change. 12:15pm.
Doctors believe Dean died from a leg-to-lung blood clot. When I asked his Doctor how does this happen? Dean’s Doctor simply said: “It’s injury related.”