Football

Rhode Island embraces Evan Huddon, 15-year-old with spinal defect, as member of team

Courtesy of Rhode Island Athletics

Evan Huddon is a 15-year-old about to start high school. In 2013 he joined the Rams football team and has had an impact on its players.

KINGSTON, R.I.— It’s a gray, cloudy day at the University of Rhode Island. The Rams football team is stretching for an intrasquad scrimmage. Two dozen fans dot the mostly empty bleachers.

One player on the roster — who won’t appear in the scrimmage, or ever for URI — shimmies down the sidelines, shaking hands and sharing hugs.

“If you ever need a smile, look at Evan,” Selwyn Nicholas, a defensive end, said. “He never stops smiling.”

Evan Huddon is 15. In a few days, he starts high school. Yet he’s on the sidelines, dressed in his dark blue Rams uniform. He’s number one. Only Evan is allowed to wear it.

Evan has been an honorary Ram since URI football drafted him in 2013. He was born with spina bifida, a spinal cord defect that left him paralyzed from his lowest abdominal level down. He moves, constantly, in his electric wheelchair.



Evan came to the Rams via Team IMPACT, an organization which matches special needs children to local college teams. He attends all URI home games, but will cheer from home when Rhode Island travels to Syracuse for its season opener Friday at 7 p.m. While Evan now has the Rams as his second family, he fought through 22 surgeries and tubes in his stomach for his moment on draft day.

“The first three years of his life,” Evan’s father, Jason Huddon, said, “… he spent literally half his time in the hospital.”

Five months into Julie Huddon’s pregnancy, doctors ran an amniocentesis test to diagnose any possible birth defects. The results showed elevated spinal fluid levels, indicating the baby’s spinal fluid was draining into Julie. About three of every 10,000 babies born per year have spina bifida. One of them would be Evan.

“They give you a chance to terminate the pregnancy,” Jason said. “That wasn’t even an option.”

A baby’s spinal cord develops about eight weeks after conception, Jason said, from a hollow structure called the “neural tube.” That structure forms in two and “zips together,” starting at the top, to close around and protect the brain and spinal cord. Evan’s neural tube stopped zipping in the lower back and he developed a rare form of spina bifida. The bottom end of his spinal cord pushed through the hole in the spine, forming a large, damaged, nerve-filled sac bulging out of his back.

At two-days-old and in his first surgery, doctors placed the spinal cord back into the neural tube, but couldn’t repair the nerves.

A few days later, Evan flatlined.

Fluid built up in his brain, causing it to swell and cut off life functions. In the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Hasbro Children’s Hospital, nurses were already busy with another child’s emergency. Jason was in the room alone. He grabbed the Ambu bag, which helps resuscitate non-breathing patients, placed it over Evan’s face and started squeezing air back into his son. Thirty seconds later, a nurse rushed over.

“They stuck a needle in the top of his head and pulled out fluid from his brain (to alleviate the pressure),” Jason says. “That’s tough to see for a two-week-old.”

***

Evan had J-shaped, fluid-draining “shunts” — needles — stuck into his brain. He needed a daily catheter. To support his spinal cord, doctors inserted two metal rods into his back. In March, a surgeon shaved Evan’s spine because the rods and spine differed in lengths, riddling Evan with such bad sores that, for a whole month, he couldn’t attend school or sit down.

Despite all that, Evan’s heart and respiratory systems are healthy. He has no diminished life expectancy. Still, he fought to get this far.

For the first six months of his life, Evan had a tube run through his mouth down to his airway. While it helped him breathe, it was difficult for his tongue to properly push food back toward his throat.

Evan nearly choked on all solid foods. Doctors inserted a tube two inches above his belly button, which fed directly into his stomach. He popped the tube open nightly and ingested all the necessary calories from three, 8 oz. bottles of Ensure, a nutrient-rich drink.

He now wears a palate expander, which sometimes causes him to slur words. But in exchange, he can eat solid foods, and he’s up to 63 pounds.

***

Jason fingers a rip in Evan’s harness.

Due to his lower abdominal paralysis, Evan constantly leans forward in his wheelchair. A black harness holds him. The rip is on the right side, the side Evan shakes hands with, and his arms are always out for hugs.

Since he’s spent so much of his life recovering, Evan values every interaction, Jason said. But Evan isn’t always mobile, so he stays active on social media. With his blue-cased iPhone 6, he Snapchats, tweets, Instagrams and FaceTimes. He loves Facebook, and his positivity shines there.

“I love life,” one status reads.

Sitting behind the south endzone, Evan gets quiet. He closes Facebook and opens YouTube. He easily finds the video he’s looking for. He’s watched it, by his own estimation, 400,000 times.

As former Rams coach Joe Trainer’s speech grows louder, Evan’s smile grows bigger. Trainer says that with the 2013 first pick, Rhode Island selects Evan. All the football players stand and cheer. Evan is beaming at the video.

“That was awesome,” he says softly.

The team gave him the jersey. They gave him a locker, to which he never told anyone the combination. They let him into the locker room at halftime of games. The Rams set up a mentoring program where one player in particular closely talks with Evan and helps him get to know the other guys.

Clay Crume, a tough, serious Texan and former Rhode Island long snapper, had a soft spot for Evan. When Crume met his parents at midfield on Senior Night, Evan rolled alongside, carrying Crume’s helmet. Later that year, when Rhode Island won its only game of the season, Crume pushed Evan onto the field with the team to celebrate.

For all the Rams give Evan, he brings them something too.

“Some of these players are grinding through a two-a-day practice and it’s not the favorite time of their life,” head coach Jim Fleming says. “But when a guy like Evan rolls in, it puts it all in perspective and shows how fortunate you are to be able to push yourself. The guy’s a tough little nut.”

The scrimmage ends. Crume, among others, hug Evan.

A hot sun has burned through the day’s earlier clouds. The sky is almost clear. The football team files off the field. Evan finishes speaking.

He wheels around and heads back to the locker room. Back to his team.





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