A Day to Remember

The unexpected, as inevitable as laundry, has a way of jolting us out of our complacency and helping us to re-prioritize. For me, a new experience also serves as a proving ground for the strengths and/or weaknesses of bilateral hearing. Yesterday (Thursday, 6/26/08) was one of those days for my extended family. It was my Aunt Jean’s 86th birthday, and I had planned a short low-key outing designed for 3 octogenarians, my parents and the birthday gal. First on the agenda was a visit to Gerry’s workplace to see how he prepares flowers for the florist and to ooh and aah over the beautiful things in this high-end gift shop. Then we were off to a nearby neighborhood restaurant for a home-style lunch, complete with a rich chocolate fudge cake with a single candle. Next on the itinerary was a stop at our church so that Dad, Mom, and Aunt Jean could see the progress being made on the new sanctuary building and to marvel at the scaled model under glass in our narthex. The last stop mid-afternoon was a return to the flower shop to give Aunt Jean her birthday gifts before driving her home.

All went as planned until the final entry into the flower shop. A portable metal sign near the door had blown over and apparently Dad did not see it. In a split second, he was down in a heap on the sidewalk, falling hard on both the sign and the concrete. Gerry and I helped him to a sitting position as the realization of the seriousness of the event took shape in our minds. All of us were jarred into prayerful action and began asking Dad about his precious physical body. Miraculously, Dad was conscious and coherent. Surveying the damage, we soon noticed that his left arm, just below the shoulder had an abnormal bulge and a 911 call was in order.
The last thing my shy, modest dad ever wants is public attention, so two fire trucks, at least five EMT’s, and gawking shoppers would not be his idea of a relaxing family outing! The EMT’s worked their magic on Dad, and I moved to the fellow with the clipboard standing next to Mom, knowing instinctively that she would need help in hearing his questions. Such an incredible blessing to be able to do this again for my mom! The inability to be her “ears” had been such a great personal heartache for me during those years when my hearing loss was so severe.

Back to yesterday’s saga ― we followed the ambulance through heavy interstate traffic and drizzling rain to a hospital about 10 miles away. Fortunately, the trauma center was not especially busy at 4:15 pm, but we soon realized that this fact did not equate to immediate and efficient health care. It took a whopping eight hours for Dad to get some painful x-rays, a temporary splint contraption, and more x-rays. After 11:00 pm we were finally informed that an orthopedic surgeon wasn’t available and that Dad could go home if he felt able. We should call for an appointment the next day, but since this would be Friday, we weren’t likely to get an appointment until Monday. Use ice and pain relievers and keep the arm in a sling.

My left ear, with its power-hungry older CI technology, died around 9:00 pm, and my pocket cache of batteries was depleted. After all, I’d planned a short outing, hadn’t I? Gerry had left the hospital at suppertime to make the 80-mile round trip required to take Aunt Jean home and then drive to our house to pack an overnight bag, including my all-important battery charger and spare batteries. With only unilateral hearing, I sensed the return of a bit of inner trepidations concerning not hearing all the words of those infrequent visits to our little cubicle by some medical person who would dart in, mumble something, and be gone almost before we had time to register their presence. Yes, I hear so much better in noise with 2 ears and yes, the old fears still reside just under the surface.

With Gerry’s welcomed arrival, I was relieved to be back in the bi-lateral business. We were all weary and anxious for resolution. My dear mother, ever the gracious one, requested care for Dad’s bloody abrasions before we were discharged. “Ah . . . sure . . . OK . . .” A nurse (?) was dispatched to do the deed. After viciously wiping and blotting his tender knee and forearm with some smarting stuff called sterile fluid, it became obvious that she was clueless as to how to proceed and needed to enlist the help of her ‘mentor’ who said, “ . . . blah, blah, blah . . . gauze and some tape.” Is it just me, or does this strike anyone else as both startlingly inept and unacceptable medical service? We shall see what Monday brings . . . . for now, we are all thanking God that Dad is at home and asking the Great Physician for comfort, healing, and guidance.