The Best Laid Plans
I waved good-bye as my husband left on a trip in January. I had my plans all made; I would drag out my scrap-booking material and spend the next four days secluded in my own little world “catching up” on a hobby I love. I would organize, crop, do layouts and work late into the night; stopping only if necessary. I had it all planned. I passed by my newly acquired “scrap-booking center,” anxious to get to work.
Somehow I ended up in the living room, surfed a few channels and discovered a movie I had been longing to see. “A movie would be good,” I remarked out loud to myself. “And,” I continued, “popcorn from the movie theater would be just perfect.”
I hit the pause button, grabbed my keys and hurried out the door, heading for the Twin Theaters. I could already smell the popcorn!
I could see the traffic light on 7th Street; it was green. I entered the intersection passing a shiny red and silver semi stopped at the light. I heard a deafening crash and myself saying, “What was that?” Everything went dark as my life changed forever. I felt blood running down my face as excruciating pain radiated down my right arm. I heard a voice say, “She’s alive in there.” Reality struck; I had been hit—hard. But my light was green! “It wasn’t your fault.” A voice outside the car offered, “He ran the red light.” Suddenly, my car was surrounded by people offering to help. They asked many questions; a young woman took off her white jacket and held it on my head. In the distance I heard sirens. I just wanted to close my eyes; sleep, let me sleep. “Stay with us, stay with us,” I heard.
“Call my son.” I pleaded. His voice on the phone assured me he was on his way from his farm 15 miles away. In the emergency room I called out for Roy; the attending PA, a friend of mine. Hearing his voice brought relief. “I’m right here and will take care of you,” he assured.
It seemed like hours before all the tests were run, my head and face were sutured and I finally saw my son. AJ made the all important call to my husband. He was overcome with fear, but reassured by AJ that everything was being done.
“Unbelievable,” he told his siblings. “Moving from the Metroplex of Dallas for a quieter life and getting creamed a block and a half from home.”
The impact caused me to fall sideways on the console, severely damaging my shoulder. Major surgery, called a hemi, was done to replace the ball in my shoulder and to insert a rod in my arm. It will be a year before we know how much use I can regain in my right arm. Passing by my dormant scrap-booking center, I swiped my finger along the edge to remove some dust. Soon, I will organize, crop and scrap; but for now I must concentrate on the healing process.
Yesterday Karen called from Dallas. “Hey, how about if I come in July? We can celebrate our birthdays and scrap.”
“Great plan!” I responded—thankful to have a birthday to celebrate.