I was watching the clouds build up this afternoon. They were beautiful.. those big billowy ones… and in Arizona, we’re used to them building up like that… but this time, they were huge intimidating clouds that looked so big I felt dwarfed. It was as if they came out of nowhere and were immediately threatening a terrible storm.
Sometimes those threatening storms show up and sometimes it’s just a lot of show. And so it is with the challenges that I/we face in life from time to time. We’ll just be going along minding my own business and something happens right out of the blue. (Raising four boys in the middle of Southern California “nowhere,” one has to know that storms will arise.)
It was late in the evening but still light. Oldest son Tory (maybe 16/17 at that time) and I were hitting practice balls (golf) in the back yard. Nicholas (6/7 years old at the time) was really wanting into this game. Tory kept telling him he was too young and leave the golf clubs in the bag. After about the fourth round of this conversation, our neighbor came home with some very heavy art made of bronze. So I sent Tory over to help him take it into his home. He left to help. I turned around to pick up another practice ball and I heard Nick say, “Mom, look what I can do.” I turned around and the club he was swinging hit me square in the face, left side. He certainly didn’t mean to hit his mother in the face. But it happened. There it was… the storm clouds became the storm.
My face literally exploded into pieces. Blood everywhere. But I remained conscious. I recall actually seeing stars and thinking, “Wow, just like in the Popeye cartoons!” (There is a technical term for this… what happens is that the blow to the head tears the visual pattern and you do see what looks like stars.)
It didn’t hurt all that much but I must have looked a mess. Nick had an expression of horror on his face; and, he said, “Oh Mom, I’m so sorry. Why were you there?” (Shoot! I got there first! What’s up with that? Who knows. Maybe he just couldn’t believe he had just hit his mother in the face with a golf club.)
Tory and neighbor, Rick, came running into the back forty of our property. Rick laid me down on the grass and I immediately started choking on my own blood. His face registered the same thing that Nick’s did… horror.
Rick asked me if I wanted him to call an ambulance and Tory (who was our resident athlete) said, “NO. I’m going to take her in.” Travis (number two son, took charge of a hysterical little Nick); Nathan took charge of cleaning up the mess in the yard and wiping the blood off of the club.
Now I’m in the car, passenger side. I have a ga-zillion rags that are quickly soaked with my blood. Tory is saying to me, “Mom… Mom, Trust me to handle this. I’ve been to the emergency room a lot… I know how this works. Can you just trust me with this? We need to get you in the door right away… no waiting room.”
At home? Nick is still crying hysterically. Travis sat him down in the middle of the family room floor.
“Nick, did you mean to do this to Mom?”
“No. I didn’t mean to… I never wanted to hurt her.” (Fresh tears again)
“Then, Nick, you gotta let this go. It was an accident… that means you didn’t do it on purpose… and Mom knows that… I know that. You want to help her?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s pray for her.”
Back at the car we have just parked at the emergency entrance. I’m not feeling so great. I felt sort of weak as a matter of fact. Again Tory said, “Will you trust me to handle this?” I said, “Okay.” (Do you notice the number of times I’m having to have faith throughout my life… and saying “okay” to someone? This really is trust… letting someone else take charge when you know you can’t do it.)
Tory grabbed the rags on the floor of the car and began to squeeze all of my blood out of the rags and all over my clothes and face and hair. Then he practically carried me into the emergency waiting room.
“Hey, Tory! What’s up?” (Yes he had had so many athletic injuries that we were on a first name basis with more than one hospital!)
“No, it’s my mom.” And he purposely caused me to lose my balance and my bloody face, clothes, hair… all of that went front and center to everyone sitting in the waiting room. People jumped up in alarm and began to scream. And that was it… I was out of the waiting room and into an examining room.
The chief of staff of the emergency unit took one look at my face and said, “I’m not gonna touch her… she needs a plastic surgeon.” The nurse turned to me and said, “So who’s your plastic surgeon, honey.” (Like I carry that in my wallet and just HAVE one.)
As it was, I happen to recall the doctor who took out Nick’s tonsils and adenoids… he had a plastic surgeon’s sheepskin on the wall of his office. (Always pays to read! And, it pays to have two sons at home praying for you. I don’t believe in chance or accidents even if it hurts. I don’t think I just happened to remember that from four years previous. I was helped.) I said the doctor’s name and everyone remarked that this was great choice. And off they went to call him.
Now I am still in a room and wondering how bad my face looks. I’ve had a couple of shots for pain so I’m a little loopy. But all I can think of is that I have to see my face.
In the mean time, Hubby has arrived and he is looking at me horrified. Now I really want to see my face! Then the plastic surgeon came in… he examined my face and announced that he thought he had some work to do here. (Yeah think!!!) So he ordered me prepped and he left to go get ready.
In came the nurse… I say, I have to use the bathroom. And she wheels me to it. As soon as I get there, I jump for the door, lock her out and turn on the lights. She is in the hall freaking out because there’s a mirror in the bathroom and I’m going to see my face. Yes! I am!
Holy cats! It was bad. I could see my bone structure, part of my skull. I could see part of my mouth missing and all these teeth. I am thinking to myself, “Thank God I didn’t lose any teeth!” But I did look really bad.
The surgery went well. I woke up with my mouth wired shut. I could talk … sort of. But eating was out of the question. I stayed like that for several weeks.
Yes this truly did become a storm. Happily I came through it well. And I think I did because I expected to do that. I believed that God would stand by me. I believed in myself to fight for me. I had faith…. even when my five men made jokes about how they could say anything they wanted since my mouth was wired shut. (Nice, huh. Levity at mom’s expense. But you might as well laugh right along with them! Or you just feel worse.)
Nick could hardly look at me for a while. He felt so bad. It took him years to get over the fact that he had inflicted that kind of damage on his mom. He has a great caring and sensitive heart, and is a wonderful son. But, at last he realized that no one was blaming him but himself.
Storm clouds. They don’t always mean that the storm is coming. But sometimes they do. My sons functioned like a well oiled machine when I needed them. They made sure I got the care that I needed and they took care of their mom and our home while I was not there.
Storms happen to everyone. Love, support and a strong faith always see you through to the rainbow. Thanks, bros. You are the air I breathe!
Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple