The treehouse

Another sudden accident.

Another heart pounding moment of realization that the person closest person to me on this Earth was in serious trouble.

I'm drained. I don't even know if I can get this out.

March 6, Saturday, we stopped in Atlanta at Ben's sister's house on our way home from a much needed change of scenery and vacation in Florida.

March 6, Saturday, I wept and tried to hold it together most of the day for my nephews. The day marked three months since sweet Cora died in my arms. 

I spent much of the day curled up in bed, but finally decided to try joining the BBQ my sister in law was throwing for some distraction. I started coming out of my shell. Was truly enjoying my nephews and their friends. When my entire (already upside down and scary world) was again sent spiraling.

While caught up in play, my husband, and Cora's daddy, Ben, decided to slide down the fireman's pole in the left on the picture below. The kids had all been doing so with close supervision by parents at the bottom.


I told him not to do it, which meant of course he had to try to slide down. Ben lost his grip and went tumbling. We immediately knew he was hurt, but he was alert. He knew his leg was broken. I worried, but inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. A broken leg was fixable.

We soon saw the paramedics would be needed and it wasn't until they got there and cut off his shoe that I this wasn't just a leg break. His foot was grotesquely twisted as if snapped from his leg.

I sat in the front seat of the ambulance and three months to the day Cora died I took another scary ride to the hospital.

The paramedics said he was stable, but immediately rushed him into the trauma room of the county hospital in Atlanta. He was surrounded by gunshot victims and seriously wounded people.

Then the staff sent me to the waiting room promising a swift return. I waited hours and started badgering and finally demanding to see my husband.

I learned surgery was definitely needed. He'd crushed his talus. The doctors said it was a bad break. I worried. They said most likely he'd always have a bit of a sore ankle.

More X-Rays and specialists and CT scans and doctors and nurses later, we got a very different and scary prognosis.

A lifetime bothersome ankle was the best outcome. Ben will most likely have a limp, or need mobility aids. He's 28. I can't type this without crying.

I know it could be worse.

I know in the end he could be fine.

But, we've been through hell and now isn't the time to tackle a long, hard, painful recovery.

I'm drained.

I am optimistic. But, I am also scared. I can't describe how it feels to hear those words. To hear your husband will likely be permanently handicapped.

I can't proofread this post. I don't know that it made sense. But, it's out there.

I'm 700 miles away from home, terrified, tired, and utterly lost without him.

We don't know when he'll be out of the hospital. We don't know when his surgery is. We don't know when or if he'll walk or what he faces. We have no health insurance. We have to move in a month.

And, I am drained. I can't do it. I'm so tired. 




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