RAY PLANKINTON
family of AIDS victims
In September 1991, the Plankinton family gathered for Zoann’s
wedding. From left, they are Ray, Laura, Sarah, Kurt and
Zoann Braasch, Ray, Betty and Ron.
Continued from Page 1
and heard the news.
Sarah was HIV-positive.
Tests later verified what Rick had
suspected: He and Laura also were
infected.
Brother Ron delayed taking the
tests. But a year after Sarah’s diagno
sis, Ron contracted Meningitis. His
mother, a long-time registered nurse,
suspected the worst. Her fears were
well-founded. Ron’s tests came back
positive.
The disease didn’t take root rap
idly. Ron enrolled at Buena Vista
College in Iowa, graduating in May
1989. He wanted to attend the Uni
versity of Nebraska-Lincoln, but his
health forced him to cancel his plans.
But he didn’t give up.
The brothers rallied to each other’s
support. Ron and Rick always had
been close — best friends, their par
ents say. The two were linked not
only by their hemophilia, but by com
mon interests. Both loved computers
and strategy games.
AIDS brought the brothers even
closer. They looked for ways to sup
port each other. They played com
puter games until all hours, some
times even pulling all-nighters. They
organized game tournaments at the
local community college and joined
the Society of Creative Anachronism
— a group that acts out events from
early historical times.
Things seemed to be going pretty
well... for a while.
In September 1992, Ron felt strong
enough to leave his parents’ care. He
bought a house of his own, found a job
and seemed able to lead a quiet, nor
mal life.
it was a snort respite.
On Dec. 5, Ron came down with an
infection and started retaining fluids.
He was hospitalized.
By the sixth day of his hospitaliza
tion, Ron was convinced he was go
ing to die. He told his mother that.
But miraculously, the infection was
gone the next morning. In fact, Ron
felt good enough to walk to the bath
room on his own.
It was a fateful mistake. His feet
were badly swollen from the water
retention. Somehow, Ron slipped and
fell. The fall triggered a cerebral hem
orrhage, his parents say. Ron became
nauseated. Later that day, while sit
ting in a chair, he had a seizure, then
two more in rapid succession.
Ron died Dec. 19.
★ * *
The death angered Rick. He felt
Ron hadn’t fought hard enough, his
mother says. Rick refused to be in
timidated by the disease. He vowed to
fight it to the end.
“It helped to have hemophilia to
start with because of all the barriers
that I crossed over the years,” Rick
told the Columbus Telegram in 1993.
“This is just another bump in the
road.”
Rick became involved in test trials
for AZT, even before the government
had approved the drug.
“When the UNMC needs a new lab
rat, I’m the first one to raise my
hand,” Rick told the Telegram.
He tried anything that might help
—untested drugs, natural cures, even
black market products that were made
in someone’s kitchen in New York
City.
“I know he had the hope that he
might be able to find something that
would protect his family,” his father
says.
Rick’s parents say their son felt a
strong duty to look after his family.
But that became harder as his disease
progressed.
By June 1993, Rick was slowing
down. He took longer to make up his
mind. Paying bills became difficult.
His driving was affected. Finally, the
family had to take away his car keys.
That was a terrible blow to Rick,
his parents say. It curtailed his fre
quent visits to his hospitalized daugh
ter.
Rick found it increasingly diffi
cult to do his work at the Norfolk
Regional Center. By December 1993,
he had switched to part-time. Last
June, he retired.
Every person who could get off
work came to the retirement party,
Rick’s father savs.
From then on, Rick’s condition
deteriorated rapidly, his mother says.
Rick gave hints that he knew the end
was near. He told his mother that he
would like a black grave stone with
gold trim. He mentioned music he
likedand disliked. “Amazing Grace,”
is nice, he told his mother.
Rick fought on with the same
dogged determination, his mother
says, but the disease was taking over.
“It isn’t that you lose,” Rick’s
father says. “There’s just nothing
left to save.”
By last September, the disease
had taken a terrible toll. Rick spent
two weeks of that month in the hos
pital. He became paralyzed. He went
back in the hospital for seven days
around Thanksgiving. By this time,
he was taking 70 pills a day.
“He lost his life week by week,”
his father says.
Rick died on Dec. 31 ... his 33rd
V •
birthday.
“Happy birthday, son,” Rick’s
father told him just before he passed
away. “You are about to receive a
gift far greater than I am able to give
you. Peace.”
* * *
Sarah’s death was more unex
pected.
She was active and bubbly before
contracting AIDS but eventually
couldn’t run and play outside. She
loved going to school, but could make
it to classes less and less each year.
Sarah turned to crafts, making little,
colored crosses.
“At that time, she knew she was
getting weaker, knew that she was
getting sicker, and she was getting
thinner,” says Kim Pohlman, the
school counselor. “She wasn’t grow
ing like the other kids were.”
Sarah’s weight stayed around 50
pounds, but her face turned puffy.
Four days before her father’s death,
Sarah’s grandmother took her to
Omaha for a check-up to find out
why.
“We didn’t think the trip to the
hospital was going to be the end,”
Sarah’s grandfather says.
But the check-up turned into a
hospital stay. Sarah’s doctors decided
on an operation to change the entry
point for her IV.
Sarah seemed to be doing fine
after the operation... until she devel
oped pneumonia. The family re
mained optimistic even after Sarah
was put on a ventilator. There was
talk of taking the youngster home.
Doctors told the family that if
Sarah pulled through this time, she
would have two to three months to
live.
But Sarah didn’t go home. The
pneumonia was too much for the
weakened 12-year-old to fight.
“It was a raging inferno,” her
grandfather says. “They slowed it
down a couple times but could never
stop it.”
un Jan. tu, two weeKS aner ner
father’s death, Sarah died in her grand
mother Plankinton’s arms.
“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever
seen in my life,” says Sarah’s mater
nal grandfather, Rob Drozd. “She
was just a little girl ... just a little
girl.”
Jc 1c 1c
Family and friends thought Laura
would be the first to go. They under
estimated her toughness.
But it hasn’t been an easy fight.
Laura is almost always bedridden
now. She requires constant care.
Laura’s weight has dropped below 90
pounds. The nerve endings in her feet
have been killed by medication, mak
ing it difficult to move the 15 feet
from her bed to her chair.
Her memory fades at times, the
result of AIDS dementia, her mother
in-law says. Laura breathes heavily
and coughs a lot.
But Laura doesn’t cry anymore.
She doesn’t get depressed ... about
her illness or the loss of her husband
and daughter. She doesn’t laugh, ei
ther.
She can’t.
Laura’s latest medication is for
her psychological condition. Her
emotions—pain, sadness—are held
in check.
“She just doesn’t feel,” her father
in-law says. “She knows she should
feel something; just doesn’t feel. I
haven’t heard her laugh for months
and months and months.
“It’s a mixed blessing probably.”
Despite her worsening condition,
Laura still believes she’ll pull through.
The Plankintons are more realis
