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Anna even baked him a ninja birthday cake!

Ivan is a ninja. He enters and exits my parents’ condo undetected. Mom once checked out behind him at Costco without spotting him. He’s pushed, pulled, lifted, dragged, and (insert any other word for “toted”) me in and out of various locations without attracting so much as a startled glance.

Ivan revealed his ninja nature quite some time ago – Thanksgiving 2017, in fact. Some of you would remember the initial seizure saga reached a crisis around that time. None of you would remember that Ivan picked up an apple pie and brought it (and me) to my parents’ house for dinner that Thanksgiving. Apparently dinner went well, but our five minute drive back from my parents’ condo to our apartment complex did not. Most of that night is fuzzy (I was fading in and out of awareness between seizures), but I have one very high-definition snapshot of Ivan pinning me to a concrete wall with his left hand to keep me from falling. He was holding that pie high above his head with his right. Somehow (I have no idea how) he got me down a flight of stairs, across the complex driveway, through a hallway, and into our apartment…in between my full-body seizures. He never dropped the pie.

It’s January 2019, and Ivan is still a ninja. When asked if he wanted me to include his feats of stealth in my last post, he opted for silence. “Maybe later…” he conceded.

Well, it’s later.

If y’all remember, we hit the road to Itzhak Perlman after I’d had five seizures and taken a rescue drug. “Hitting the road” entailed Ivan wrangling me, my wheelchair, our sandwich-bag supper, a latte, and a Frappuccino into our tiny blue Yaris. Nothing was spilled, nothing (including me) was dropped, and no cars were harmed in the making of that production. Once installed, I sat for most of the drive with my eyes closed to avoid more light triggers. This required some expert driving on Ivan’s part so I wouldn’t get motion sick from the starts, stops, and bumps that come with a Bay Area rush hour. Upon arriving in downtown San Francisco, Ivan prowled for the unicorn parking spot that was wheelchair friendly, near the concert hall, and unlikely to attract unsavory attention – a tall order given SF’s parking reputation. Somehow he snagged a handicap spot that was curbside to the front doors at Davies’ Symphony Hall.

But this ninja’s mission was far from over. Ivan stood next to my wheelchair for almost two hours just waiting for the doors to open. He haggled with ushers to prove that we had indeed purchased ADA seats, that no I couldn’t abandon the wheelchair and navigate a staircase in the dark, and that  yes I would most likely need direct access to leave the hall during the performance (my brain is still easily overstimulated by noise). Ivan is possibly the most non-confrontational person I have ever met, but somehow he got exactly what he wanted from a potpourri of ushers in a potpourri of moods. He even talked one into clearing out a ladies’ room since I was too unsteady to go wandering through a crowded, tile-floored bathroom on my own.

The ultimate ninja test was yet to come, however. As the usher deposited us near Mr. Perlman’s green room, both Ivan and I spotted a giant problem. Stairs. The green room was up a flight of stairs. Unfortunately this particular usher felt his civic duty was complete, and so he retreated back from whence he came…without any parting words of staircase wisdom. Silently, Ivan leaned me up against a wall with his left hand, raised my wheel chair high above his head with his right, vanished, and was back again before I had time to process. I couldn’t place its source at that time, but I suddenly had a strong sense of deja vu. Where has he done this before??  It was the pie. Ivan did it during the pie incident. Unfortunately for Ivan’s sweet tooth, this time involved a wheelchair instead of baked goods. Mr. Perlman must’ve been a decent recompense for the absence of pie, however, since Ivan whisked me up the offending staircase and into my wheelchair in record time. It has since occurred to me that whisking someone who wobbles is scientifically impossible. Nevertheless, Ivan whisked.

Ivan, Mom, Dad, Anna – all four work overtime to keep me up and running every week. All four say they rely on the grace of God. All four are also fastidiously low-profile, and none better than the resident ninja. But sometimes, ladies and gentlemen…sometimes even ninjas get spotted. 😉

Ivan: I’ve read and watched all of Naruto.

6 thoughts on “Ivan Utomo, Ninja in Residence

  1. Ivan and Grace,

    You guys are so totally awesome!! It sounds like Ivan takes the attention away from himself and puts it on Grace and on God. Grace, your writing ability keeps us in stitches and in contemplation, two very good things!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. My heart is warmed at 1, Ivan’s skill, 2, your wonderful ability to write so graphically!! 3, I love your sweet spitit in all you AND “NINJA” deal with on a daily basis. . . .with out Loving Father’s help.

      Like

  2. Again, I am amazed at your writing, Grace. The visuals in my mind are astonishing. I hope and pray this is all going in a book. We are so glad you have your ninja.

    Like

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