Last night after our weekly Skype call with my family, my husband and I hopped on our bikes and headed to our friends' for a birthday backyard bonfire (at our soon-to-be residence!) which is only a few blocks from where we currently live. We were literally five houses away when Mitch went to hop his bike off the sidewalk and onto the street. Mid-hop, his tire came loose and he crashed to the ground. It took him a minute to stand up but upon first glance he looked okay. We walked the rest of the way and when we arrived we discovered his arm bleeding pretty bad. Our friends helped us clean the wound when I noticed Mitch couldn't move his arm away from his body. He's pretty tough so I knew something was wrong. He then said quietly but firmly, "I think I need to go to the hospital".
I had never been to the ER for myself or anyone else and I was terrified. I knew if Mitch was asking for the hospital that we needed to go. Our friend kindly offered to drive us there and then...there we were. Lucky for us, the waiting room was empty and the nurses quickly got the process started. What I thought an ER was like: Grey's Anatomy style, people everywhere rushing around, shouting, bloody gowns and nurses pushing gurneys with bleeding people. Reality: A couple nurses standing around, quiet, one other family there and absolutely no blood anywhere.
We were escorted to a little room, a doctor came and examined Mitch and requested some x-rays. Mitch got shot up with some morphine and his pain began to subside. I felt awkward there and wished I knew of a better way to comfort Mitch than cracking jokes and rubbing his leg. We learned from the x-rays that Mitch had torn some ligaments in his shoulder and that he may need surgery. After the doctor gave us the news, Mitch (a little out of it) slurred, "So...you're a doctor. What does the recovery time look like? Six months?". I winced, hoping the doctor would scoff at such a long time frame. "Not six but probably three." His last word landed in the pit of my stomach with a thud. We are moving in six weeks. Summer is quickly approaching and there are adventures to be had! We have trips planned. All the things he couldn't do were quickly running through my mind but I tried to not let it show on my face as I held his hand. The doctor gave us a name of a specialist to call the next morning, wrote a prescription for some pain meds and gave Mitch a sling. As we were about to leave Mitch muttered three words that broke my heart, "This is bad". I tried to keep my plastered brave face from slipping into a mess of tears and drove us home.
Finally at home, every feeling, reality and possibility hit me. Our summer plans changed in an evening, in a 5 second accident. Why didn't we drive to our friend's house -- this is so unfair! Why wasn't the tire secured? Other people deal with things MUCH worse that affect their whole lives -- we are so lucky! What will this mean for us long term? This week? Tomorrow? How much of our savings are we going to put toward this 5 second accident? How did we end this day in a sling? After I helped him into clean clothes and picked up his medicine we sat on the couch, dazed. I looked over at him and saw a look I don't see on his face often: grief. "I wanted to build you a table," he sighed. "I want to take care of you." I finally let some tears fall and told him it was okay and that I was capable of taking care of him for once.
During the moments of helping him gingerly get his arm through his shirt, cleaning the blood off his pants and going to Walgreens at midnight to get his medicine -- I realized that I would do anything for him. Of course I thought I would before this all happened, but after these small acts I knew that if circumstances were worse I would do whatever it took for the rest of our lives. And honestly, it brought me so much joy and I felt a love for him I have never before felt. I learned in an evening what I've heard my whole life long -- hard things bring people together.
Today at the specialist we learned that he will not need surgery (hooray!) but his shoulder will only ever return to about 93%. As we were leaving he said half joking/half serious, "Well, I guess my dream of pitching major league is over." I sighed, not knowing what to say. He looked at me and said, "It's okay. You are my dream." And right then I melted into a puddle of love for this man I am somehow lucky enough to spend my life with. Even though this accident is only a taste of the tragedy some people go through in life, I know I can do anything with Mitch by my side and a loving Heavenly Father watching out for us.
No Comments Yet, Leave Yours!