May 4th is the birthday of Donald Nicholas Michael "Mick" Sullivan, M. D., son of Jim and Nancy; stepson of Bitsy; brother of Jim III, Amos, Miles, and Franny; husband of Mary; father of Oscar, Beatrice and Lucille; nephew, cousin and friend of many more. My favorite memory of Mickey is his tiny scratchy voice when he was a toddler.
Like so many of our family members, Mick's talents cross from right-brain to left-brain abilities with ease. In his young life he succeeded in football, hockey, soccer, swimming, guitar, english and drama. After receiving his BA at DePauw, he served as a U.S. Army Ranger. His last jump from an airplane didn't go as smoothly as anyone would want--I believe he cracked a vertebrae in his neck!
After his medical discharge, Mick's path became clear: medical school. On to Southern Illinois University for clinical training and microsurgery, then residency in orthopedic surgery, and a fellowship in adult joint reconstruction at University of Chicago. Today, Mick is a partner at Decatur Orthopedic Center, specializing in joint replacement procedures: total, complex, revision; as well as shoulder replacement, trauma and joint preservation.
Not only does Mick have a Covid-19 birthday, he's also working in and enduring the harsh reality of this pandemic. Last I heard, he was working in surgery and coming home to live in an RV in his own driveway--quarantined from his family. They are all finding creative ways to relate through windows, technology and at distances, but I'm confident he can't wait to gather his wife and kids up in a big family hug soon.
Happy Birthday, Mick, and may you have 77 more healthy ones by the Aunt Joannie Sullivan Law of Longevity Aspiration of 2008.
God bless us and save us and keep us from harm.
Love, Patty
Mick is the type of man I hope to become. That says it all, since I'm his Dad.
ReplyDeleteI love you, Mick, with all my heart.
Dad.
Here is a poem about Mick:
MICKEY
My faithful Mick, my puppy son, the baby with square eyes,
Has grown to be a man of strength, and character, and size.
The little boy who tore apart a lawnmower with his hands
Grew up to jump from heaving planes o’er hostile distant lands.
He made a famous, diving catch in far right field at ten
At twenty-four, he dove into the Army’s best, again.
A Ranger, tempered in the fire, the crucible of fear,
Three dozen times, right out the door, Grim Reaper lurking near.
The burst of plain, raw valor that propelled him to the end
Of Hightow’r Gap that second trip, won’t crack, won’t break, won’t bend.
The Rangers know about that deed, and told me one by one
That Bravo Comp’ny’s heart and soul is Mick, my Airborne son
Endure, endure, has been his way, since he was just a pup
As Husband, Brother, Puppy Son, it’s hard to match him up.
The gift of golden music that comes pulsing through his art
Reflects his darling Mary as she glows within his heart.
I think that you may have a son or daughter, maybe more.
The medical profession has its ups and downs in store.
But whatsoever comes to you and your sweet Mary, too,
I hope it’s half as fine as being Pops to both of you.