Maybe it’s just an accidental headline, and nothing more. Maybe this is just the way they talk in India. Still, the words we use mean something, even when we don’t know it. And so, the way The New Indian Express, an English-language newspaper and website, summed things up recently said it all:

“US Varsity comes forward to assist state government in water management.”

It’s fair to guess that in this case they are probably using the word varsity in its original meaning as “university.” That’s fine. Doesn’t matter.

Here in the U.S., the varsity means the big boys (or girls). The No. 1 squad you’ve got. The best. The top line. The first team.

And so in this usage, it’s perfect. Because in this headline when it says “US Varsity comes forward,” it means UNMC.

Think of that phrase: U.S. Varsity comes forward. This is UNMC’s best image of itself summed up in four words.

As in: Not just the best team in the country, but the one, when help is needed, is already on the way.

Alan Kolok, Ph.D., interim director of the Center for Environmental Health and Toxicology in UNMC’s College of Public Health, displays UNMC’s sentinel fish.

The story went on to say that UNMC, which is helping the Asian Institute of Public Health set up India’s first public health university, has offered its expertise in eastern India. UNMC’s College of Public Health could assist with “developing systems for effective water management for agriculture and drinking, flood and draught management as well as cropping patterns and soil toxicology.”

UNMC has developed sentinel fish-based systems – scientific sentinel fish! – which let you know right away whether your water has unwanted levels of toxin, metals and pollution.

Pinaki Panigrahi, M.D., Ph.D., director of UNMC’s Center for Global Health and Development, was quoted: “Water availability is evolving a major threat for the future that could fuel war,” he said. “The focus across the world, thus, has shifted to proper water management. Strategies are being oriented toward addressing the problems of pollution and contamination of water and making it usable for varied purposes.”

Dr. Panigrahi

Water. UNMC is going to make sure that people have water.

That’s public health. That’s health, period. That’s life. Period.

If where you live there is no clean water, and someone helps you get some, that is quite literally a breakthrough.

Dr. Maurer has long set the goal of becoming world-class.

As much as Chancellor Harold M. Maurer, M.D., has talked about the concept of being world-class, it still can be a tough idea to grasp hold of. Many of us find ourselves falling back into seeing things in terms of UNMC’s standing here in Omaha. It’s more comfortable for us. And, here, in Omaha, we’re unquestionably awesome. Of course.

But now, maybe a headline from a newspaper on the other side of the world shows us once and for all what that means. Those words show us who we want to be.

Sure, the Indian editor who wrote it may not ascribe the same meaning to the verbiage that we do – doesn’t matter. Even without knowing it, he or she was right.

If there is a problem of ingenuity somewhere in the world, anywhere in the world, if people need help, who are you going to call on? Who will step forward?

You send in the U.S. Varsity.

That’s us.

The idea of modifying cars is not a new one. Just look at reality shows like “Trick My Truck.”  But the concept of adapting toy cars for children with disabilities?

Now, that’s novel.

That’s exactly what happened at the Center for Healthy Living last month. Fifty area physical therapists broke out the power tools and listened to national early mobility expert Cole Galloway, Ph.D., from the University of Delaware show them how to turn “Power Wheels” into early versions of power wheelchairs.

First, the groups ripped off the steering wheels of six toy trucks and attached big red buttons in their place. Then, they added kill switches by drilling holes into the plastic near the license plates. Next, they added padded PVC pipe frames and finally, seatbelts. Last but not least, decal stickers made the Larry the Cable Guy character car come to life.

Paula Wachholtz, a physical therapist for Papillion La-Vista School District, came away impressed. “I want to go to Toys R Us on the way home,” she said.

The cost: $89 for each car, plus supplies. The cost for a power wheelchair: somewhere in the neighborhood of $5,000-$20,000.

“Most adaptive equipment is considered medical equipment, therefore they don’t sell very many and it drives up the cost,” said Reggie Harbourne, Ph.D., associate professor of physical therapy at UNMC’s Munroe-Meyer Institute and organizer of the workshop. “This is so easy, what do we have to lose?”

Physical therapists spent about an hour transforming the toy cars. Finally, the big moment: putting kids behind the wheel for a test drive.

First up was 3-year-old Tyler Lundy, who has cerebral palsy. He was apprehensive at first. Much like a 16-year-old trying to drive a stick shift, his driving was herky-jerky at best. After a few tries, he put the red button to the floor and cruised off into the sunset (OK, it was more like the free throw line of the gym at three miles per hour, but very cute, nonetheless). Just when his parents saw their son growing up before their eyes, the car abruptly stopped. Tyler was crying. He couldn’t see his mom anymore.

“They do tend to cry the first couple times,” Dr. Harbourne said. “It’s a lot of new information. The noise, the speed, and for some it may be the first time they’ve ever caused something to go.”

But pretty soon, Tyler was back at it, showing off by using his chin to make the car go. He grinned like he was in a parade and even threw out some waves to the crowd of therapists.

Next up was Brandon. At just 11 months, he was the smallest of the children to try out the truck. Born prematurely, he is still learning to roll over. While an initial smile crossed his lips when he hit the gas, it wasn’t long before he, too, was in tears.

His face said it all: “Where’s my mom?”

The access to mobility for children who can’t move on their own is beneficial in two ways, Dr. Harbourne said. It allows them to control their environment and, simply, to socialize. Just like adults who get something new and want to show it off to their friends, kids clamor to get close to TowMater or Mater, as he’s known in the movie.

“Other kids Tyler’s age normally don’t want his toy; nobody wants a stroller. But with this, they’ll come talk to him, and he can work on his social and language skills, too,” Dr. Harbourne said.

Without mobility, kids with disabilities don’t have much of a chance to create cause and effect, which helps them understand concepts like over, under, around and through.

“If children don’t have the motor capacity to do things they cause the effect of, it can lead to delays in others area, like cognition or language. They don’t learn by watching others do things,” Dr. Harbourne said.

Parents can think of it this way. When kids knock their sippy cups off their highchairs, it’s not because they’re trying to annoy you (well, maybe a little), but rather because it helps them understand concepts like object permanence (Even if I drop this, it still comes back, again and again).

Tyler got the “cause and effect” message loud and clear. His parents were excited for him to take the car home.

“This is a great way for him to keep up with his peers,” said his mom, Jennifer. “Just like any typical boy…he loves to go fast.”

]]> http://blog.unmc.edu/blog/2013/05/power-wheels-to-makeshift-power-wheel-chairs/feed/ 2 http://blog.unmc.edu/blog/2013/04/surprise-youre-radiologic-technologist-of-the-year/ http://blog.unmc.edu/blog/2013/04/surprise-youre-radiologic-technologist-of-the-year/#comments Mon, 29 Apr 2013 14:41:24 +0000 Kalani Simpson http://blog.unmc.edu/?p=1246

Everyone but Tammy Jones, assistant professor in the radiation science technology division in the School of Allied Health Professions, knew that she was going to be named Nebraska Society of Radiologic Technologists 2013 Radiologic Technologist of the Year. Everyone.

Who knew?

“My students,” Jones said. “The faculty.” Everybody.

Meanwhile, she had no idea.

She was there, in Kearney, for the NSRT annual conference. When the build-up to the big award started, she sat there, with no clue. But after a while, the nomination letters describing the winner started to make her wonder. And then there was no wondering – they called her name.

Tammy Jones accepted the award as the Nebraska Society of Radiologic Technologists 2013 Radiologic Technologist of the Year.

Then she went up to the podium to accept the award, and they made her say a few words. So she looked out into the audience, and saw, for the first time … her husband and two boys! (Ryan, and Ian and Noah!)

And her parents! (Jim and Lonita Webster!)

(See? Everyone knew!)

How had her family kept this a secret?

“My son’s teacher knew!” Jones said.

Well, at least it was a pleasant surprise.

The big award – SAHP Senior Associate Dean Kyle Meyer called it “A well-deserved recognition for her significant contributions to her profession and to UNMC” – headlined a strong showing for the med center.

Jones works with students Bridgette Root and Molly Gallagher, whom she calls “the future Radiologic Technologists of the Year.”

UNMC also earned first-place honors at the conference in Student Essay (Sarah Johnson); RT Student Exhibit (Dana Riter); and RT Exhibit (Connie Mitchell, Brandon Holt and Rob Hughes).

But the real winners of the day were the ones able to pull off a surprise like that.

Ed Vandenberg, M.D., associate professor in the department of internal medicine, division of geriatrics and gerontology, knows the power of knights. Their suits of armor. Their codes of honor. The way lances and swords hold sway over our imagination.

Their very names are magical, mythical: Sir Paul McCartney; Sir Lancelot; Sir Mix-A-Lot.

Knights!

And so he annually gives a lecture before an auditorium of students while wearing a gleaming helm.

But in the dressing room before striding out, he is apprehensive. When did this get so big? Now there’s a photographer from The World-Herald in the audience, and a guy taking video, too, and longtime Omaha columnist Mike Kelly is writing things down (this is what happens when you mention something to UNMC public relations ace Tom O’Connor). It feels like all of this is getting a little bit out of hand.

“I’m worried the students are going to think this is about showmanship,” he says quietly. “Because it isn’t about that. It didn’t start out like that.”

Dr. Vandenberg donned a rain slicker and wielded an umbrella for a lecture on incontinence.

No. It started because Dr. Vandenberg is a teacher. He just comes at the job differently than most. He’s back in academia now, but before he came to teach at UNMC he’d lived a little. OK, a lot. He practiced medicine in northwest Alaska, near the Arctic Circle, by the Bering Sea. And in northern, rural Wisconsin. Urban areas, too.

He knows how important it is that his students get this.

So he has his own methods. For years, he’s given his students “Geri-Pearl” cards, cards which break down the symptoms and care of most common geriatric medical problems onto a single mini-page. If a student seemed stumped by a particular scenario, Dr. Vandenberg would take that card out of his pocket and place it in the student’s hands. There.

Learn it. Know it. Live it.

(Whoah.)

A knight is a master of every weapon in his arsenal — including the kazoo.

He bursts into the auditorium wearing a black tunic and waving an 18-inch plastic sword. His “helmet” shines in the lights. He delivers a spirited monologue in a patois that is part Monty Python, part “Richard III.”

“Knights and knightresses!” he roars. (Knightresses?)

“Will you join me on this quest?!”

They will. They are. They already have.

“We sit in school for four, six, eight hours a day,” second-year med student Joseph Rohr would say. “Having something unique is good.”

The laughter and the looks on the faces of the students confirm this: They are with him on this ride.

The knights and knightresses show their approval.

“Enough with the bad British accent,” the knight says. Time to talk about geriatric falls. How to diagnose them. How to treat them. How to prevent them.

“The bathroom is the most hazardous room in the house,” Dr. Vandenberg says.

“I don’t know why anybody goes in there.”

How can you tell if a patient had passed out? Ask them the last thing they remember.

For example: “I think I saw Ed in a knight helmet.”

He puts up a case study of an older woman who had fallen, all of her symptoms. He talks about getting additional info from the witness to the fall, her son.

How does he know how traumatic this can be?

“I was the son.”

The two most interesting men in the world cross paths.

Dr. Vandenberg used to have a “real” knight’s helmet. It was awesome. He misses it, a little.

But the rental store that carried it closed, and now he makes due with a somewhat less protective version, something a kid might wear on Halloween.

Still, it works. Not because of the helmet, but who wears it. He was recently awarded the University of Nebraska’s Outstanding Teaching and Instructional Creativity Award, the university system’s highest honor for doing what he does.

It comes through: He knows how important it is that his students get this. And they know he knows.

But with all of these cameras recording everything, with all this extra hubbub, will the lecture he’s about to give have the same impact?

In the dressing room beforehand, he frets.

“Please,” he says politely. “Keep that door closed.” It would ruin everything, for the students to see him too soon.

This isn’t about showmanship.

When you make the right entrance, you can have them in the palm of your hand.

By John Keenan, UNMC Today editor

I used to race for fun, back when I was young and (relatively)  fast.

These days, however, I run road races much less frequently, and prefer to race (if you can even call it “racing” anymore”) for a reason.

On April 19, for example, I took part in UNMC’s Hustle for Hunger, a three-mile run/walk designed to collect donations of canned and boxed foods for the Food Bank. I was looking for a short race to run near the end of April, and as a newcomer to UNMC, I figured a nice, noncompetitive race might get me some exercise, help me support a worthy cause, and perhaps allow me to meet other runners who work or go to school at UNMC.

After two days of rain and snow, the early spring crispness of Friday afternoon seemed perfect running weather, not only to me but to the 50 or so people who turned out to run or walk the course. (By the way, it’s not too late to help out by dropping off a donation at one of these locations.)

See event slide show here.

I’m certainly not alone in running  for a cause – and the Food Bank of the Heartland isn’t the only organization that allows you to flex both your fast-twitch and philanthropic muscles. This coming Saturday alone, a fitness junkie could run a 5K for Fertility or a 5K to support autism awareness. A bicyclist could Bike for Sight (in another UNMC-related fitness event). You could knock out a quick mile to “Keep Kids Alive – Drive 25.” Or walk the Nebraska Lymphomathon. And that doesn’t include events on the surrounding weekends, races that support Siena/Francis House or help provide shoes for needy children.

I used to leave races feeling bad about missing an age-group award. When I finish the autism run this weekend, I suspect I’ll leave feeling bad about not making my fund-raising numbers. As a fund-raiser, the best thing you can say about me is I’m a pretty good runner – my “Personal Fundraising Page” for the autism run has netted $40 (including $20 that I kicked in myself). But if I’m going to put up $30 to $40 to run a race, I like the idea that there’s more than a T-shirt as a payoff. And – counting what it cost me to register for this race – I figure at least I’ve given a little money to a good cause.

The Hustle for Hunger didn’t even cost that – the can of peaches I donated for my entry fee ran me a couple of bucks. But the payoff is much bigger than the food donated at one event, according to Brian Barks of the Food Bank of the Heartland.

“Food drives are mini PR campaigns,” Barks said. “While hundreds and hundreds of food drives are done on our behalf, product received from those food drives comprise less than 5 percent of our inventory.  So generating awareness through food drives has become a critical component.”

You had to think some awareness was generated Friday, with the bright yellow Hustle for Hunger shirts increasing visibility as runners and walkers went from the start near the ice rink out onto Dewey, up 42^nd Street to Douglas, turning west then south again to climb the hill near the Munroe-Meyer Institute before circling past The Nebraska Medical Center’s main entrance and back toward the start. (Props to Munroe-Meyer, by the way – the team of walkers and runners from MMI bought boxloads of food items with them.)

My running is not always about philanthropy. I’ll be racing a Half-Ironman triathlon in June for no other purpose than to prove I can do it and feed my enormous ego. Between registration, hotel and various other costs, the amount I’m spending there will dwarf the proceeds for the autism run or the cost of the few food items I donated to Hustle for Hunger.

But going forward, I’d like to look for events – like the Hustle for Hunger – that will have an effect to go with all my effort. I may be older and slower, but I’d like to think that some of the races I run these days will have a bigger impact than simply causing me knee problems and shin splints.

Three teams of five – Team ROI, Team Conned and Team Mojo – competed in the event, in which the contestants were asked to match the answers to a 2012 survey on public health questions.

The kicker? The survey was taken not only by College of Public Health faculty, students and employees, but also by the general public. So the question, “Name something everyone should have in their disaster preparedness kit,” in addition to COPH-approved responses such as “water,” might yield an answer like “a flask of whiskey” or “a copy of King Lear.” (Tell me an English major didn’t give that response.)

“It’s more about predicting the things people might come up with, not so much the ‘right’ answers,” said Claudine McCarthy, president of the COPH Student Association. McCarthy said the “PHeud” event was such a hit in 2012 that the students were excited to bring it back.

Shawn Gibbs, Ph.D., associate dean of student affairs for COPH, acted as the emcee for the event.

Questions ran the public health gamut, from “Name an organization that deals in public health” to “Name a place in Omaha where people can be tested for sexually transmitted infections.” One team stole a round in the “Name a way to prevent infectious disease.” category by having the only contestant bold enough to answer “Wear a condom.”

The mood in the room was high-spirited, with one team tossing pennies when it stole a category, and cries of approval and disappointment as survey answers were revealed.

The event was not without controversy. A too quick response from MPH student Jessica Chavez Thompson led to the adoption of “the Jessica Rule”– put simply, no answering the question before the question is completely asked.

Despite the rule, Chavez Thompson and her compatriots on Team Mojo – Mohammad Siahpush, Ph.D., Molly McCarthy, Theresa Tonozzi and Andrew Braith – eventually secured the victory.

Janelle Jacobson, a fourth-year Ph.D. student, was the leader of Team Conned, which lost in the final round to Team Mojo. Both she and Chavez Thompson agreed that the most surprising things about the survey answers were what was not included.

“It just goes to show that when you’re in this world of public health, you can forget … there are things we’re familiar with that maybe the general public isn’t,” Chavez said.

Martin said the student association has been pleased with the level of interest in its Public Health Week events.

“The turnout was very good, not only when we did things just for the college, but when we reached out to the wider community, as well,” Martin said.

And the PHeud was the perfect way to round out the week, Chavez Thompson added.

“I think it’s a very public healthy thing for us to do,” she said. “We want people to have happy lives, to do fun things with their families and friends, to do them together.”

“This is Olivia,” Dr. Kielian said.

Dr. Kielian, a professor of pathology and microbiology in the College of Medicine, beamed a little herself.

“She’s a pistol,” Dr. Kielian said, then stopped, and looked at the picture again.

This is why she works now. This is why she does what she does.

Olivia, the go-getter, the girl with the indefatigable smile, is Dr. Kielian’s 9-year-old niece; her sister’s youngest kid.

A while ago they noticed Olivia’s vision was getting worse. She went through two pairs of glasses before her family could blink.

A second-opinion suggested it might be the first sign of something else, and it was. Genetic testing confirmed Olivia has juvenile neuronal ceroid lipofuscinosis, better known as Juvenile Batten disease. It’s inherited, autosomal recessive, neurodegenerative. That was a little over a year ago.

Juvenile Batten occurs in about one in 100,000 live births, Dr. Kielian said. That’s very rare — but it still adds up to plenty of kids. That’s a lot of families that will mark time in two ways — from the day before they heard the diagnosis, and the day after.

“It changes everything,” Dr. Kielian said.

Look at that picture again.

Basically: Mutation of the gene CLN3 results in lysosomal storage problems. An abnormal amount of protein and lipids become trapped inside the cells. Like when the garbage disposal breaks, the body can’t clean the clog.

As the material accumulates in brain cells, neurons in the central nervous system begin to die. The first symptom is loss of vision. Then seizures. Then cognitive loss, then motor loss. Then premature death.

A lot of kids who have it are gone by their late teens.

For the past dozen years or so, it turns out, Dr. Kielian’s lab has investigated immune responses in the brain. She had an idea that maybe this had something to do with what her niece was going through; maybe her research might have an impact. She had to try.

David Pearce, Ph.D., an expert in the field, has published 60 papers on Batten. Dr. Kielian emailed Dr. Pearce, the director of the Sanford Children’s Health Research Center in Sioux Falls, S.D., and proposed a collaboration. Almost immediately, her computer dinged with his reply. Then her phone rang, too.

Dr. Pearce was excited. In this much unexplored field, her approach was novel.

Call it fate, coincidence — whatever.

Her research expertise was in line to make an impact on this disease.

Soon, Dr. Pearce’s mouse models — mice with mutated CLN3 genes, just like in these kids — were headed to UNMC.

And in these mice, Dr. Kielian found that the two types of brain cells she studies — the microglia, the brain’s first line of defense, and the astrocyte, which supports neuron viability — are activating early. Very early.

“We believe that when these cells turn on early, they inadvertently contribute to an environment that, down the road, leads to neuron death,” Dr. Kielian said.

Scientists see it all the time: sometimes our antibodies work against us.

“An overactive immune system may be contributing to this disease’s pathogenicity,” Dr. Pearce said.

Today, one of the goals in the study of Juvenile Batten is to slow down this process to give these kids more years and better ones.

Dr. Kielian hopes — along with other investigators grateful for her fresh perspective — that her work will inspire other researchers.

Dr. Kielian has been able to come up with some new ideas that seasoned Batten researchers have found promising.

Meanwhile, Olivia is doing it all, and with abandon. She’s in gymnastics and Girl Scouts. She’s learning braille. Her mom has her in everything, has her breathing life in with great gasping gulps — like Olivia ever had a problem with that.

But there are good days, and there are bad.

Kids who have Juvenile Batten disease can sometimes rage against the dying of the light. Or they can seem detached.

This awful thing steals them, neuron by neuron. Sometimes parents don’t even tell their kids they have the disease. Sometimes that’s for the best.

Olivia understands that someday she may not see. Right now, that’s what she knows.

Dr. Kielian asked her sister and her husband if there was anything they didn’t want her to talk about for this story. No, they said. Say everything.

“Seizures will initially be controlled by medication,” Dr. Kielian said. “Eventually they won’t.”

Now, a catch in her voice: “Cognitive loss will occur.”

Dr. Kielian soldiered on: “Speech will go. She won’t really be able to communicate anymore. She’ll be in a wheelchair. After that, bedridden. And then the end.”

Silence.

One second. Two …

“Strangely enough, it doesn’t seem real right now,” Dr. Kielian said.

No, of course it doesn’t. Right now, she’s doing something about it. Right now, she’s getting funding, and readying proposals for more. Right now, she’s making presentations at national conferences and investigators are praising her new ideas.

Right now, her sister is seeing this — her sister is going to conferences, too, meeting the scientists who are so hard at work.

Right now, their fight has only just begun.

But this is different. This isn’t in theory.

This isn’t your typical investigation. This isn’t abstract.

They are on the clock.

She nodded at the assessment, repeated it with a whisper: “We’re on the clock.”

But science doesn’t work like that. Research moves at its own pace; and Dr. Kielian has to detach herself — as a professional and a scientist. Her lab knows this story, of course. And she might mention her niece in an opening sentence at a conference. But, there is no picture of Olivia and her sunbeam smile in the lab or at presentations. There is no impassioned plea. There can’t be.

Research doesn’t work like that.

Instead, all she can do is push her sadness into a box and use it as fuel. And she does. And she will. This is what she’ll work on, forever.

“And I will always do it for her,” she said. Always, for Olivia. For that go-getter girl with the smile you can feel in your chest.

“Always,” Dr. Kielian said. “That will never change.”

A few Fridays ago, I headed up the hill for lunch with plans of assembling a healthy salad just a few hours prior to my glucose test for gestational diabetes and routine doctor’s appointment. That was before I found out it was “create your own mac and cheese” day. Salad, schmalad. I got in line for the M&C.

As I shoved my face full of macaroni until I could see only Styrofoam, it never occurred to me that this might have an effect on my glucose test. You see, I’ve since learned that macaroni = carbs and carbs breaking down = sugar, specifically glucose. And this is why I didn’t go to medical school. Science is not my friend.

As I chugged my orange glucose drink for the camera (you might see me in a future segment of Ask UNMC) I had no idea I was giving myself a sugar high.

An hour later, I stopped by the diagnostic center for a quick blood draw and headed up to my appointment at the Olson Center for Women’s Health. Upon entering the exam room, my doctor kindly informed me I was a failure. At least when it came to glucose tests.

We quickly deduced that the macaroni may have played a part, but I argued that it was worth it. That was before she told me I would  have to do the 3-hour glucose test, which consists of drinking the entire bottle of glorified Hi-C and four needle pricks.

I showed up to the diagnostic center on Monday with my Kindle in hand, prepared to pass the time reading. But in between blood draws, I decided to mosey down to the Durham Outpatient Center.

As a sat there contemplating whether the macaroni bar really was worth the next three hours of my life, I noticed the elevators. Up and down they went. They’d start at the bottom empty, collect people along the way up and then deposit them on their floor of choice. The folks who got on and off  might have been here for a check-up, a consult, a cold, or cancer treatment. Whether they were off to hear good news or bad news was unknown.

I glanced at the people around me. What were they doing here? I wondered. The woman catching zzz’s on the couch…was she awaiting word on the birth of a baby? The man typing away on his tablet…was he passing time during a loved one’s surgery?

The couple that walked by with their canes in sync. The fast walkers. The slow ones. Those that rolled by in wheelchairs. Those that were led by their oxygen tanks on wheels. What brought them here today?

It made me realize I work at a place where some of the sickest people come to get better. Whether it’s a doctor working with a patient on a speedy recovery, or a researcher behind closed doors investigating a vaccine to prevent people from getting sick in the first place, there is always something monumental happening on this campus that we might not notice. We here in PR refer to UNMC as the place that “hums” and now I know it’s because of all the people buzzing about, doing their best to make people better.

One of my favorite quotes is, “A person who has health has a thousand wishes; the person who doesn’t, has but one.” How cool is it that it might be a physician, a researcher or a current student/future doctor right here at UNMC who grants that one wish?

So to answer the question I’m sure you’re all wondering: Yes. The macaroni bar was well worth it, but for reasons I couldn’t have fathomed beforehand.

P.S.: I believe it’s “create your own mac and cheese” day at the Nebraska Cafe today if you’re interested…;)

The official UNMC long-sleeve biking/workout jersey. Muscles not included.

Hmm. If only there was some way you could show off both your post-UNMC Winter Decathlon physique AND your pride in working at one of the country’s top academic health science centers.

If only.

Hmmmmmmmm. …

Wait, how about team-UNMC workout/bike jerseys and cycling shorts?

No, something that cool would never happen.

Oh, wait – yes it did!

No matter which direction you’re moving, these shorts are sleek. Special orders must be in by March 18 — approximate pickup is May 13.

And these are some cool threads (or, you know, whatever it is they use to make lightweight, wicking, QUICKDRY fabric).

The red, black and white are striking, like a real sports jersey. If UNMC had a cycling team – and why doesn’t UNMC have a cycling team? – this is what it would wear.

Imagine standing out in the peloton at the next road race. Have your team show up en masse, in uniform, at the next OwL Ride or Bike for Sight. (Well, next year’s Bike for Sight — this year’s is in just a few weeks.)

See yourself showing up at the next 5K, half-marathon or fun-dash … in this!

Sleeveless. By the way, men’s jerseys have elastic around the waist, while women’s have a contoured waist with flared hip, for a female-specific fit.

Of course, as it says right there in the product description: “Jerseys do not fit like T-shirts.”

This would be especially true in my case.

But then, the sight of yourself (OK, myself) in one would serve as an incentive for working out.

That’s genius.

To order, go to http://www.peak1bikestore.com/unmc/ or contact the Center for Healthy Living by March 18. Jerseys are $32, shorts are $55 and cycling bibs are $59 if ordered online, $2 less each if ordered at the CFHL.

Peter Pellerito, fitness specialist at the Center for Healthy Living, said the UNMC uniforms are not a money-making proposition. These clothes aren’t to make a profit or raise funds.

It’s that, when our employees show up at bike rides, runs and other athletic events around town, we want them to say, “Here comes UNMC.”

And here we come.

He liked bugs and dinosaurs and animals in general. Stuff 2-year-old boys are wired to love. But his mom isn’t sure what he’d be into now. Trains? Spiderman? Batman? Sadly, she’ll never know. The blue-eyed blond toddler, known to his family as “Tots,” was killed in an auto accident just before Christmas in 2011.

The Curry family had been on their way home from having family photos taken in Lincoln.  A semi-tractor trailer slammed into the back of their car, which held a sleeping Aidan and his little sister, Ansley, in the backseat.

“The car seat wasn’t enough to save Aidan, but the car seat is the only thing that saved Ansley,” Brock said. “Ansley walked away without a scratch.”

Dad Jeff was trapped in the driver’s seat. Brock was shaken up. The ambulance arrived and medics strapped Ansley to a backboard before they whisked her away to the hospital. She was conscious and alert the whole time. Seventeen-months-old and all alone.

Brock struggles to imagine what the experience must have been like for her daughter. On the ride to the hospital, as doctors she’d never met examined her, while she underwent multiple tests, there was no one and nothing familiar to her until someone handed the little girl a homemade quilt. A comfort item. Something recognizable in the midst of the unknown.

And that is where the idea for Aidan’s Animals comes from. “Born out of tragedy but maintained by love,” the non-profit organization was started by the Curry family to honor their son’s short, but meaningful life and remember the kindness that was shown to their daughter in her time of need.

“When you don’t have mom or dad or your sibling, this way you have a teddy bear or a stuffed dog, something to hug when you go to radiology, for blood work…a constant cuddle, something familiar.”

Aidan’s Animals has provided cuddles to more than 800 children in the Omaha area and beyond. Whether it’s Children’s Hospital & Medical Center or Bellevue Medical Center or further away in Connecticut following the Sandy Hook Elementary tragedy, the Brock family continues to give back tenfold what they received those fateful days following Dec. 3, 2011.

Now they want to do it here.

Starting Friday, Aidan’s Animals will conduct a toy/stuffed animal/blanket drive called “Kuddles for Kids” through Feb. 28. The items will be donated to the pediatric units at The Nebraska Medical Center.

UNMC and The Nebraska Medical Center employees are encouraged to contribute to any of the drop sites on campus (listed below). If individuals would like to contribute but are unable to get to a drop site on campus, they can always donate to the cause through Aidan’s Animals wishlist via Amazon.com or Walmart.com.

“At some point, everyone is faced with a tragedy,” Brock said. “We hope to minimize the effects by offering the highest level of support and creating more positives out of ordinarily horrible and devastating ordeals.”

Tomorrow, Feb. 20, will mark what would have been Aidan’s fourth birthday. Last year, his parents brought treats for his day care friends – cupcakes with cars on them — and opened the presents they’d purchased for him prior to his death, a bug light projector and a marine biologist play set. Brock isn’t sure how they’ll mark the occasion this year, but one thing is certain, it won’t be forgotten.

“I had an initial fear…and I still do…. that he’ll be forgotten,” Brock said. “He had no chance to create a legacy for himself, but he was an incredible person. We just want people to know how special he was.”

Through Aidan’s Animals, they will.

Here’s a list of NEW items employees can donate for the pediatric units at The Nebraska Medical Center:

-Toys
-Books
-Art Supplies
-Tables & Chairs
-Blankets
-Stuffed Animals
-Puzzles
-DVDs

In addition to the following med center drop off locations, individuals can bring items to the Walmart, 1606 S. 72nd St. in Omaha, as well as at Aidan’s Animals headquarters, 2809 Angie Dr., in Bellevue.

DROP OFF LOCATIONS

Clarkson Hospital lobby
Munroe-Meyer Institute, Psychology Department on the 3rd floor
Munroe-Meyer Institute, The Center for Autism Spectrum Disorders on the first floor
UNMC College of Public Health
Durham Outpatient Center lobby
Kiewit Tower Entryway
ITS building entrance
Sorrell Center Alumni Commons
Center for Healthy Living

For more information, e-mail aidansmama3@gmail.com or visit Aidan’s Animals Facebook page.