Event #4: Broken Bones

On August 24, 2016, the day after my promotion announcement, Jim and I were still floating on the euphoria of my good fortune.  Gravity would soon strike back with a vengeance, however.

The evening was perfect.  The sky was clear, the sun was on its way to setting.  The air was warm, but not too humid.  Everything was aglow with the color I call “breen” (brilliant green).  It’s the golden glow of sunshine across the brilliant green of the soft lawn, the leaves of the maples, my tomato plants, the fuzzy moss at the corners of my garden beds.  I had gone out to collect the latest produce my garden had to offer and Jim had taken off on his bicycle for his evening ride.  As he left, he smiled at me and said, “See you in a bit, Consultant Wife!”  Consultant was my new official title.  He was very proud of me.

After I collected tomatoes, peppers, and okra, I drifted back into the kitchen to begin preparing dinner.  I was dicing chicken breasts for the stir-fry I was about to make when the phone rang.  Wearing kitchen gloves, now covered in raw chicken juice, I stepped over to the phone just to peek at who it might be.  I did not recognize the caller, but it was a person’s name, rather than some unknown caller or an agency.  I let it go and went back to dicing chicken.  But somewhere in the pit of my stomach, I had a niggling feeling.  The phone rang again.  It was the same caller.  This time I took off my gloves and answered, my heart’s pace picking up a bit.

The caller asked if I was Mrs. Bacon.  I could tell it wasn’t a sales call.  I said I was and he said, “I’m here with your husband.  He’s been in an accident.  I’m here at the park with him.”

Now my heart was pounding.  I told the caller that I would be there in five minutes.  I grabbed my keys and my purse and flew out the door and into the car.  I drove as fast as I reasonably could to the Windermere neighborhood park.  It was the wrong park.  In a haze, I realized my error and took the alternate route to the other park, Mud Creek Park.  Ironically, the route I would have normally taken to Mud Creek Park was closed for bridge repair.  Had I flown out the door and headed straight to Mud Creek Park, I no doubt would have instinctively taken my normal route and would have had to have turned around and gone back along the alternate route, anyway, which would have doubled the time it would have taken me to get to Jim.  (Thank you, God.)

When I pulled into Mud Creek park, the sun was beginning to set.  It was close to 8:30pm.  In the dimming light, I could see a small cluster of people on the footpath near the bridge.  As I approached, I could see Jim sitting on the ground, leaning back against another man’s leg, as the man helped prop him up.  I jumped out of the car and ran over to him.  It was obvious that he was in agony and he was breathing in gasps.  He said, “Honey, I fucked up.  I’m sorry.”  I told him to shhh.  He said his shoulder and leg were killing him.  I could tell just by looking that his shoulder didn’t seem right.

In addition to the man helping prop Jim up, another couple was there.  Apparently, Jim had at first told them he would try to walk back home, but he was unable to move.  One of them offered to give him a ride home, but any movement brought excruciating pain.  As Jim was sitting there nearing unconsciousness, the rest of us decided to call 911.

Mud Creek is located less than a quarter mile from a fire station.  As soon as our call was placed, we could see the lights at the station go on, the ambulance and fire truck emerge from the garage, and hear their sirens begin to wail.  They were at our side within two minutes of the call for help.

The paramedics came over and eased Jim into a lying position.  Despite their attempts to be gentle, Jim screamed in pain.  They managed to get one of those straight boards under him and the wrapped his hips tightly with a sheet-like cloth to hold them together.  Thankfully, they started a fentanyl patch to help his pain.

After determining that this was not a life-threatening situation, one of the paramedics spoke with me about insurance info and my choice of hospitals to take Jim.  The other nice people who had stayed with Jim helped me load the crashed bicycle into the back of our Ford Edge.  The fellow who drove the ambulance told me I could follow him right then over to the hospital, or I could go to the hospital on my own at any point.  He said, “This isn’t going to be a lights-flashing-siren-sounding kind of thing.  We will just drive over to the ER at Community North.”  With my head a little clearer, I realized that I had left the house unlocked and all the lights on.  So, I quickly went back home, turned all the lights off, made sure the cats were in, locked up and headed to the hospital.

To be continued…