Here’s a winter blast from the past. Do you remember the blizzard that struck Warren County? I do, because that event turned into an unforgettable quest for this unsuspecting mother. 

My daughter was born in May 1992. She had a shriek that would pierce your ears. I noticed it from the first scream. The next day, I heard a baby down the hall. I remember looking at Richard and saying, “There comes your daughter.” Yes, let the games begin. I’d already decided that she was his when she was screaming like that. He said, “How do you know?” As we’re looking at each other, the nurse walks into the room with an angry bundle of joy. Never question how a mother knows.

She was healthy. However, it didn’t take long before she developed a small rash on her stomach. I took her to the doctor, he gave a diagnosis, a course of treatment and sent us home. It didn’t work. The rash continued to spread. Another doctor and an emergency room later, I’d gone through two more unsuccessful treatments as the rash spread.

As good mothers and fathers can attest, there is nothing worse than that feeling of helplessness. 

Someone suggested I take her to Dr. Mann. I’m sitting in the waiting room – completely exhausted and overwhelmed. He walks in and takes one look at her, “Your daughter has severe seborrhea.” To be honest, I don’t know if I’m spelling that right. It has been 26 years. 

I stated, “Are you sure? This is diagnosis No. 4.” 

He walked out, came back and handed me a medical book. On the page was a picture of my daughter – another child with the exact same rash. She was allergic to milk. Once we made a change in formula, her skin cleared up. 

Several months later, my infant daughter spent the night with my sister to give us a break. As tired parents will, we went to sleep early. We expected a little snow that night, but nothing like what we woke up to the next morning. It was a blizzard unlike anything we had ever seen. We were supposed to pick up Merissa that morning so I didn’t send much extra formula. 

I told my husband to start the truck, because we’ve got to go. He said we would never make it. I agreed, but stated, “Hopefully, you’ll get me close enough to walk the rest of the way.” 

We shoveled enough snow out of the driveway to finally get onto the road. That was a nerve-racking trip across town. We did get stuck. While my husband continued the effort to dig the truck out, my walk began. I stepped into some drifts and sunk hip-deep into a snowbank. I made it though. He eventually got the truck back on the road. We bundled Merissa up and slowly made our way back to the house. 

That was the weekend of March 12-14, 1993.  

Share your blizzard story. 

Standard reporter Lisa Hobbs can be reached at 473-2191.