In it together
This is the first of the two sample columns I submitted in December 2009.
We're in This Together
My daughter calls it the year my mother broke her back and my father broke his leg.
It started with a massive disc rupture one Sunday morning, a sudden jump from varying sciatica to screamworthy, unremitting pain. Fearful of the emergency room bills, I endured till the next morning when my husband drove me to the doctor. I could not stand, I could not sit, I could definitely not drive. We decided to try to manage the situation medically, but by summer’s end and the CT scan it was clear that, terrified or not, I had two choices—surgery or be crippled for life. We scheduled the surgery.
Ten days post-op, my family left for Utah. Our oldest daughter had to get back for her sophomore year at BYU, and my grandmother was celebrating her 95th birthday. We decided that everyone should go, even though I couldn’t. Our children had not had many chances to know their extended family, and I felt strongly that it was too important an opportunity to miss.
So here I am in a hospital bed added to my 12x15 foot living room, which already contained two couches, a rocking chair, and an entertainment center, with a list of ladies from church who will by turns bring me in a plate of dinner every night, as they hit the road. It should be okay; I have phone numbers if I need something, and they will be back in a few days.
Except. After the reunion party, my husband and kids are staying at my aunt and uncle’s house, who live at the bottom of a canyon just above the University, with a creek running through the property. Our youngest daughter, who is three, has her foot stuck in the rocks down there, calling for daddy. Daddy rushes across the deck, down the steps cut into the embankment, and loses his footing with five steps left to go. He went flying and crashed to the ground, breaking his leg in five places. Playing Peter Pan without the pixie dust, he said later.
So now he’s in a hospital in Salt Lake awaiting surgery, I am in a hospital bed at home in Tacoma, recovering from surgery, and there are five kids and a van to bring home and no one to drive. Cavalry to the rescue, one of his brothers drove the kids and flew right back, also bringing a sister who could stay for a couple of weeks until Bill could fly home in a wheelchair. The hospital bed is now his, but at least now I’m allowed to climb the stairs to my bed.
After he was home, one of our friends from church stopped by to see how we were doing. Bill’s cheerful answer was that we were doing just fine, didn’t need a thing. This good gentleman looked at Bill on the hospital bed, at me lying on the good couch (he’s on the saggy couch), and just started to laugh and shake his head. “[Brother Stoddard], I think that has to be the most optimistic statement I have ever heard!”
I don’t know that my declaration would have been quite so unequivocal, but he was right; we were okay. I know there were money worries, insurance issues, and various challenges in how to physically manage things which had to be done, but there were ways, and inevitable comic moments. The first day I had to drive him to work, I was just barely permitted to drive again, he was getting dressed and needed his shoe. He was able to put his foot into it from the floor, but he could not reach to tie it; I couldn’t bend over to tie it. He had to jerkily maneuver his leg up onto the bed so that I could reach and tie it as though he were a kid. What can you do but laugh?
One of our daughters was married by the minister father of one of her best friends. The statement of marriage vows was, “Facing together whatever life shall bring.” That struck me. That is what it really is about: we get through whatever it is, all of it, together.
We were there when Bill went flying down that hill. He didn't see/didn't know yet what was wrong, but that "Daddy...Daddy...Daddy" voice was so lost and so hurt and so scared that he took action while the rest of us were still trying to figure out where her voice was coming from. Turns out her foot was lodged between two stones in the creek at the bottom of the hill.
ReplyDeleteThe other thing about that one was that Aunt Bonnie's street was a narrow curve ending at the main road at both ends, and the fire truck came from one direction and the ambulance from the other and they blocked each other from getting out for awhile there.
My husband was teaching our oldest, who was interested in joining him in Red Cross Disaster Services, what being in shock was like. While holding Bill down (poor guy). Bill had landed on stinging nettle and had just enough awareness at that point to be trying to move off it, but those bone shards were severe enough that Richard was afraid he would bleed to death if he moved wrong. So he had to hold Bill there.
The ambulance went to inflate an air cushion around his leg. The first one didn't work. They had to scramble, looking for a second. The whole thing took awhile.
And then I found your youngest: he had run to an upstairs bedroom alone to pray for his daddy. He's a sweetheart.
Youngest son praying, youngest child down at the creek. I remember. For those who don't know us, my brother-in-law Richard is 6'8" and thus capable of holding down most people. I was stuck alone at home waiting for word, out of my mind with worry, when no one let me know they had had to delay his surgery--all I knew was that I wasn't hearing anything and it was past time.
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