The Lisa Haglund Memorial Net

By Randy Haglund

She didn’t see the puck until it was twelve inches from her face.

Let me back up a bit. At the turn of the century my wife, Lisa, and I were going through the most stressful period of our lives. She had given birth to quadruplets five months earlier.

Yes, I said quadruplets. As in four babies. At once.

After three months as micro preemies in neonatal intensive care, three babies came home, which did little to ease our chaotic lives. One remained in the NICU, hanging on by a thread.

Our dog, Kina, also knocked on death’s door, and we agonized over the decision to have her put down.

Some sympathetic friends gave us tickets to a hockey game and offered to watch the babies and our six-year-old son for the night. A relaxing night of sport and shouting at officials seemed like just the tonic we needed. What could go wrong?

We found seats up high in the “horseshoe” of the Spokane Arena. Despite the successful season the Spokane Chiefs were having, there were plenty of seats to choose from — at least up there. We settled in with sodas and hot peanuts for a night of fighting and even some hockey.

Near the end of the second period, an opposing player wound up for a slap shot from the right circle. At the last moment, one of our players stretched out and just tipped the shot off his stick. The puck rocketed directly toward us at Mach 3 speed.

When I saw it coming, I thought I had a great opportunity to get a souvenir. I reached out with my left hand but my reflexes made me pull back at the last moment. To my horror and shame, the puck then struck Lisa between the eyes with brutal force.

The next moments were a blur; I don’t remember exactly what I did. I must have called out for help or something. The game stopped and all eyes were on us. Event staff and first aid people were there pronto, and rushed Lisa to a room where medical people saw to her. Soon, paramedics dispatched her to an ambulance taking her to Sacred Heart hospital, the same building where our fourth quad languished in the NICU.

As people tended to her in ER, I paced the waiting room, contemplating the events of the night. Why did this happen? How could Lisa have not seen the puck coming? She was looking in the same direction as me.

I came up with some answers that night, and she provided more later.

1. The puck beelined at her. Like the one Blue Angel that doesn’t peel off. Not in a lazy arc, which would have been easier to see.
2. It didn’t flip either. Its approach remained flat like a frisbee, making it difficult to spot if it came directly toward you.
3. What I didn’t know is that while Lisa watched the game, she couldn’t focus on it. The adversity of life clouded her vision. Coming to a hockey game had successfully distracted me from my troubles. For her, not so much.

Still in the ER waiting room, I wrung my hands, mulling over my failure. Why hadn’t I done more to protect her? I came up with these two flimsy excuses.

1. I misjudged its trajectory. It came in higher and farther right than I thought. In my mind it should’ve hit the empty seat to Lisa’s left. Then I would have my souvenir.
2. It didn’t occur to me she hadn’t seen it. She was looking straight at it! I assumed she would lean toward me.

I don’t know why I never yelled “Look out!” or some such thing. And for some reason when I reached to my left, that didn’t catch her attention. But I do remember thinking when I pulled my hand away I was afraid it might hurt.

And it did. Worse than a broken hand.

It would’ve been better to knock down the puck. I’d rather be a wounded hero than a schmuck.

She came home bandaged up, but luckily, no broken bones. The next day she had two black eyes. She saw spots for months. But it could’ve been a lot worse. I’m so grateful it wasn’t. With four struggling infants, a sick dog, and a six-year-old to bring up, I would’ve been lost without her.

The next day I got a call from the public relations department of the Chiefs. They wanted to know how she was doing — they were very concerned. I’m pretty sure they were hoping I hadn’t called my lawyer.

The PR man asked if I could come down to the office. They had something for me.

When I got there he gave me an earnest apology and handed me a few items.

1. A team jersey with signatures from all the players.
2. A puck signed by the player responsible for the deflection (someone else absconded with the original puck).
3. A souvenir pin.
4. Two tickets to an upcoming playoff game (behind the glass!)

I enjoyed the playoff game, but Lisa was as skittish as a kitten in a dark alley.

A year later I went to another game and noticed something different about the arena. A huge safety net covering the horseshoe area. I don’t know what they call it. But I have a name for it.

The Lisa Haglund Memorial Net.

***

Do you have any regrets? Is it something you’re willing to share?