attention women 21-33: would you like to be an egg donor? easy online application The Center for Reproductive Medicine is seeking women between 21 and 33 years of age to donate eggs for couples who cannot otherwise achieve pregnancy. You will be compensated for your time and inconvenience. new For more detailed information call 612.863.5390 or fill out an application online at www.ivfminnesota.com Center for Reproductive Medicine 2828 Chicago Ave. #400 Minneapolis, MN 55407 Share the gift of life • all ethnicitieS needed Accredited by: Diplomats of the Society for Assisted Reproductive Technologies, American College of OB/GYNs and Association for Reproductive Medicine. Dan Edmondson, Joel Goltry, and Sam Sellie play at Walton Park in April. COLIN MICHAEL SIMMONS save it, he begged the doctor to saw it off. It took time to relearn how to walk. Four years later, an itch returned from his teenage years, when he skated with neighborhood kids around the schools and homemade ramps of West Bend, Wisconsin. He bought a new board and started playing around in the parking lot of his North St. Paul apartment, trying to regain his balance. This is his first time skating as a gimp at a park. Sellie is in awe. Over the next year, Goltry returns regu-larly. His friendship with Sellie is funda-mentally simple. They skate and watch each other crash. When one lands a trick, the other feels it too. By the following summer, Goltry begins to get his bearings. He’s got balance and speed. He’s catching air. One day it strikes him that Sellie hasn’t been around. Soon enough, another skater approaches and asks him about his amputation, how long it took him to skate again, what he needed to do. A friend just lost a leg, the skater explains. His friend Sam Sellie. The time bomb inside Sam Sellie is 21 years old, a son of North St. Paul. After high school, he enrolled in Minne-apolis Business College in Roseville, a tiny for-profit school that assured job placements for 90 percent of its graduates. Two years later, after piling up loans studying graphic design, Sellie discovered that Minneapolis Business College’s way of fulfilling that promise was to send him job openings at Office Depot. He got a temp job at the University of Minnesota’s ag department, laying experi-mental fertilizer in fields of research corn. He was working toward moving out of his parents’ home, moving on with his life, eventually going to a real school. 10 CITYPAGES.COM MAY 4–10, 2016 His escape was the park. Since age 12, Sellie had skated nearly every day at Wal-ton. The way he saw the world, every rail or curb or ledge was something to skate. But Sellie was born with a bicuspid aortic valve: a leaky valve that stubbornly refuses to close between pumps of the heart. The condition is difficult to detect in infants and deadly to adults. He wasn’t diagnosed until 2012, when asthma flared in his chest and his heartbeat began to rap with an offbeat flicker. Doctors monitored his heart for three years. By April of last year, an operation was necessary to save his life. After surgeons closed him up, two seismic heart attacks, one after the other, stopped Sellie’s heart. He was hooked up to life support as pressure in his left calf muscle built to critical levels, cutting off oxygen to nerve cells. Forty-eight hours after they sent their only son to the operating table, Sellie’s parents were told the leg had to come off. Sellie lay in a medically induced coma for two weeks, his mind ensnared by psy-chedelic dreams of swimming in lakes of nacho cheese. When he woke, he wasn’t sure what year it was. He did the wiggle-your-toes thing — first his right foot, which worked fine, then the left. No response, but whatever. Beyond the window of the intensive care unit was a sea of friends with their noses pressed up to the glass, staring at him like somebody had died. Sellie cracked a drug-addled grin and held up the devil’s horns. “Hey, what’s up guys?” Then the doctor came in and told him about the leg. When Sellie got out of the hospital, the gawking commenced. There were times he’d crutch into a bar with the gaping shortage where his leg used to be, and people would offer to buy him drinks. They’d thank him for his service — not a farfetched assump-tion for a bulky dude with a jarhead cut.