Yes, that's where I've been. I'm out now, and Rod Serling didn't get me, but I don't recommend the place to anyone.

"My husband's fine..." I started so many emails and phone calls and conversations with those words the last couple of weeks, I couldn't count them. What's the rest of the sentence? "...but he had a bad bike crash." Oh, yeah, and the answer to the question everyone asks: "Yes, he was wearing a helmet."

So, yes, he's fine. Only a fractured clavicle (on his right arm, and, yes, he's right-handed) and a few skull fractures. I know, that's where the stomach clenches--the skull-fracture bit--but none of the breaks were the kind you have to do anything about, except go home, lay flat, and get a TON of sleep. Believe it or not, the clavicle seems to be the worst of it, in terms of actual pain. And even that, just about two weeks after the crash, is getting manageable. 

But, oh, what a trip it's been.

Nowhere in here do I want to minimize what my husband (I have GOT to think of the right acronym for him sometime) went through and is still dealing with. He spent two days in the hospital (which I could blog about in a whole separate, not-happy, very cranky tirade, but I'm not going to), with a miserable headache, memory gaps, an excruciatingly painful shoulder, and a roommate who was coming down off something. He had one whole afternoon where the headache came back, another trip to the ER, where he (and I) sat upright for almost three hours, then the headache went away, we came home, and he figured out (him, not the doctors--oh, yeah, I'm not going there!) what was causing the headache. And he's spent the past week and a half lying on his back for a good part of every day, staring at the same spot on our not particularly attractive ceiling, because his eyes and brain still get pretty tired out with even reading. 

And through it all, he has been--without a doubt--the best invalid I could hope to share a home and life with. (You know, you always wonder--will there be a lot of whimpering and whining and basically baby-like behavior? SO happy to report--none of that here!)

Anyway, back to me!   ; )

The hardest--#1 hardest thing I have ever had to do was tuck my husband into his hospital bed, kiss him goodnight, and...leave. But, even if there'd been a place for me in the hospital room, along with the bed, the chair, the IV, and the alternately giggling/howling roommate, my son was waiting at home for me.

The hardest--#1 hardest thing I have ever had to do was get my son set up with a friend, kiss him goodbye, and...you got it, leave. At the hospital, my husband was waiting for me.

I have never felt so split in my entire life. Enter the Twilight Zone. Walk away, get into the elevator, close the door, get into the car. And, literally and metaphorically, shift gears. (Oh, did I mention we only have stick-shift cars? And a broken, right clavicle? Gonna be fun!) It was two days of having to leave the ultimately, absolutely most important person of my life behind and face forward to the ultimately, absolutely most important person in my life. Without losing focus on my driving and getting into my own accident.

My zen abilities jumped a whole level those first few days.

That was the worst time of it. That and the second trip to the ER, when we didn't know why that stupid headache had come back, and we had to sit there, and sit there, and sit there, because there were, really were people in worse shape who really did have priority over my husband who walked in on his own two feet, but still...all I could think was no, no, no and that I was not supposed to have to go back there.

Anyway. It's been nothing but good progress since then, with things getting better every day. And--not to sound sappy and saccharine--but, let me tell you, there is truly a euphoria to having your husband survive that makes all the little frustrations and delays and what-alls not that much of a pain. I actually believe there is an elevation of whatever chemical makes you feel good, after the adrenalin wears off, that sort of coats all the things that would bug you on any other given day. No, it's not all roses and sunshine, but let me tell you, the impatience and irritation just aren't there. (Okay, I know, catch me again in two weeks for an update on that!)

And the other thing? If I had any doubts, this experience has confirmed to me that I am living in the right place, surrounded by the right people, and that the life choices I have made have brought me here. It is not easy for me to ask people for favors. Not easy at all. Except for the last couple of weeks. I called friends. One, in particular, who is a doctor--I must have been on the phone to her six, eight, ten times a day. Is this right? They're telling me this? Should I do anything else? She picked my son up from school, the day I got my husband home, and took him to her house to play with her son. She made HOMEMADE chicken soup for my husband. 

Another friend came and stayed at our house, so my son didn't have to go out, and sat there for like four hours, while he did nothing but play video games--just so I could sit at the hospital and check in with the doctors (ha, but again, not going there!) Yet one more friend, along with my brother-in-law, showed up on last-minute notice when we had to make the second ER run, so my son didn't have to come along for the oh, so fun experience. And still more friends--another welcomed my son for a sleepover this last weekend, so he wasn't stuck in a slow-moving, boring house for three days of bouncing off the walls. Everybody has called to check, sent notes to say they're thinking of us, offered help.

And the biggest thing about all this was that I made the phone calls. And sent the emails. I asked. For help. And it was easy. Easy, easy, easy. It took me years, but I now know that I have finally built the community I need.

The crash happened just a couple of days after the new year. So, obviously, it took me a while to blog about this. At first, I wasn't sure I would--sometimes, even writers doubt that words have the kind of power we need. Most times, though, the words have to come, even if they can only partially express an experience. The words have to come before we can totally move on to write about something else. 

So, only one thing to add before I can do that--go back to my writing, back to my book. The one sentence that can tie things up, get to the key point, really hit home.

Wear your helmet. Please.