When the Calendar No Longer Applies

The e-mail didn’t seem like that big of a deal at first.

“Dad was riding an ATV yesterday and crashed,” Mom wrote. “He is in a hospital with some broken ribs and a small pneumothorax. They will have to decide when it is safe for him to travel.”

By “travel,” she meant home from the South Pacific, where he was taking a once-in-a-lifetime adventure trip. This is the sort of thing you get to do when you’re 79 years old and can take time off of work pretty much whenever you want. (Yeah, my dad hasn’t retired yet—he’s too young for that).

At first, it didn’t sound like such a big thing.

A couple of broken ribs. A small collapsed lung. But soon, the questions started rolling in like insistent trains. How many ribs? What other injuries did he have? What kind of hospital was he in? Was he going to be OK getting home by himself? And for crying out loud, what was he doing on an ATV?

My brother John, a doctor who lives in Chicago, was wondering the same things. He managed to talk briefly to my dad and learned a bit more. It wasn’t a couple of ribs. It was as many as 12. The collapsed lung wasn’t small, it was severe. It looked as though he’d also broken bones in his vertebrae.

I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. People died all the time in ATV crashes from injuries similar to these. Was I ever going to see my dad again?   

John and I talked on the phone and resolved to get on the first plane to Papeete, Tahiti, where Dad was hospitalized.

I would accompany my mom, who isn’t much of a traveler. There was a problem, though. A big one. John’s passport had expired—so figuring out a medical evacuation might fall entirely on my shoulders. Oh, and the people at the hospital in Tahiti only spoke French, a language I studied for ten weeks twenty-five years ago.

This wasn’t how I planned to spend my summer vacation. In fact, I’d finished work early so we could  take a short road trip to a nearby mountain.

But every once in awhile, you get a reminder that the calendar your life revolves around is nothing more than an illusion. An illusion that your life is something you can plan and control.  The truth is, all those things you thought you had to do, all that stuff you’d organized, scheduled, delegated and planned, are nothing when someone you love needs you—even if you have to fly halfway around the world to get there.
Adam understood completely.

“Go,” he said. “I can take care of the kids.”

And this is how, within 24 hours, my mom and I were strapped in to the back of a jet bound for Los Angeles, where we’d meet a connecting flight to Papeete—and with any luck, my brother.

Luck was on our side, in more ways than one.

--Martha Brockenbrough

Next week…a lucky break with the passport

Comments

[Michelle]

There is nothing worse than having a loved one alone and in pain when you're too far away to help. I hope your dad's okay!

[Jessica A]

Martha,

Sorry to read about your father's accident. Especially on once in an lifetime trip for him. Good luck with everything and everyone. Please keep us to update with this when you can.

[Shannon DeAngelis]

I don't know what the time delay is between actual events and your posts, but I hope your dad is ok, and you got him home safely!

I know exactly what you mean about calendars, I feel like I've been in a holding pattern for almost 3 years now!

[Dani]

Definitely not the reason you'd want to be going to Tahiti. But thank goodness to hear luck was on your side. Looking forward to next week.

[T]

We do try to control what happens around us too much. I find myself falling into it and I have to remind myself that nothing is really planned, nothing is for sure. And that's ok.

Salud to your dad.

[Jalayne]

Thank goodness your Dad has you and your family. All our best to you and a speedy recovery for everyone. Jalayne, Chris and Mason

[Lisa]

Your paragraph about the calendar being out of your control is so true and a wonderful quote that I may have to put on my FB page. I will credit you of course! I hope all goes well with your family.