Seventeen years ago I was lying in a hospital telling the medical personnel I didn’t have time to stay there. My foot was lying at an odd angle o◊to the side and I was in pain, but rather confused as hospital personnel had begun a morphine drip as soon as I was admitted.
My husband wasn’t by my side because he was trying to move our 15-passenger van that was running with the keys locked inside and parked in the ambulance zone. He claims I locked the van. I don’t remember it that way.
What I do remember is that summer had begun.
I had a cake in the oven and was teaching one of my daughters how to bake a cake. I had 20 pounds of chicken breasts and 20 pounds of ground beef in the refrigerator that I was planning to cook that morning. With seven young children, I often prepared meals ahead of time, then froze them, to facilitate meal preparation during the week.
Anyway, windows were open at the house, I was outside cleaning out the van, and I could smell the cake. I knew it was ready to come out of the oven and called to my daughter to get it out. She replied that the timer had not yet sounded. I was trying to teach her that one could not rely on the timer alone.
I turned to run to the house, tripped over my Brittany spaniel and felt a hot, searing pain run up my leg. I thought I had killed the dog and she was lying on my leg. No. I had dislocated my ankle and my foot was o◊to the side.
I was home alone with the younger children.
Thankfully, my husband returned home within a few minutes and I asked him to drive me to the hospital.
When he tried to remove my shoe, my foot moved with it. Ouch! Anyway, we got in the van, called his parents to watch the children and headed to Rogers while I called a couple of friends asking them to pray for me. I guess adrenaline took over because I don’t remember it being a terribly painful ride.
At the hospital, I was taken back to an exam room while my husband went outside to move the van from the ambulance loading dock only to fi nd it locked. I didn’t really learn the story about the locked van until much later because I was quickly drugged.
A friend arrived to sit with me. The doctor informed me I would have to stay overnight because surgery was needed and couldn’t be performed until the next day. I told him I didn’t have time for that as I had to cook the food in the refrigerator and had a story to write. Too bad!
I wasn’t going anywhere.
My friend assured me she would take care of the food and called my editor to tell him I was incapacitated.
I had a triple fracture/ dislocation and was down and out for six weeks. What a trial!
A dear friend committed to coming over once a week for sewing lessons for my daughters. We taught them English smocking and French heirloom hand sewing while I sat in a recliner with my foot elevated.
We still benefit from those lessons and have a lovely ecru batiste pillow to attest to the lessons learned by my eldest.
During those early weeks of summer, I was frustrated by my limitations, especially with all the summer chores, with wanting to take the children swimming and with a very active almost 2-year-old boy. His elder sisters helped quite a bit with him.
One of those summer chores was canning green beans. The children picked them and it was time to can them.
I grew up in the city and didn’t know how to can vegetables, but had planned to learn.
I had always heard of the dangers of a pressure cooker and was a bit anxious about using one. But, with help, the girls and I snapped beans and then canned dozens of jars of green beans.
My eldest was 11 years old and helped immensely.
She supervised activities in the kitchen as well as helped care for her 22-month-old brother, who was still quite mischievous.
Funny, my “baby” is 11 now and I can’t imagine him supervising six younger siblings nor doing many of the chores she did then.
It is true that birth order plays into one’s personality and character.
Now, 17 years later, I’m nine weeks out from total knee replacement and beginning to feel “normal” again, whatever normal is. I’m more grateful than ever for good health and the blessings I far too often take for granted. Maybe we/I need an occasional “handicap” to remind me how blessed I truly am.
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Editor’s note: Annette Beard is the managing editor of The Times of Northeast Benton County, chosen the best small weekly newspaper in Arkansas three years in a row. A native of Louisiana, she moved to northwest Arkansas in 1980 to work for the Benton County Daily Record. She has nine children, four sons in-law, four grandsons, a granddaughter and another due in August. She can be reached at [email protected]. The opinions of the writer are her own, and are not necessarily those of The Times.
Opinion, Pages 4 on 06/19/2013