May 30 – “A different kind of crash”

Many years ago when we heard the sound of something crashing to the floor, we would naturally assume that one of our boys (usually Nathan, with or without the urging of his older brothers) had decided to become adventurous and try something new and dangerous.  The noise was the inevitable result of a misstep here or a valiant yet futile attempt to establish a handhold there.  It could be anything from a lamp hitting the floor to a now-upended bookcase cluttering the floor with no-doubt rarely used school books.  Most of the time the result was more in the line of a mess rather than an injury. 

Then later on, when the boys all grew up and left home and Mom moved in with us and Hurricane Ike led to the restructuring of the layout of our house, the crashing noise came to signify a totally different expectation.  For now we had the dogs confined to one room of the house to keep them from accidentally tripping Mom, but it took some time for them to learn the new rules of roaming, the first of which was … don’t.  To assist them in their new educational endeavor we installed one of those child safety gates.  Well, we didn’t actually install it.  We just leaned it against the wall across the doorway.  Our dogs were so smart that they knew forcing the issue would be pointless, or so dumb that they never knew all they had to do to gain access to the whole house was knock over the silly gate.  There were those occasions, however, when an accidental brush or an overexcited bump caused the gate to lose its already-tenuous balance and come crashing to the floor.  That was a sound that we easily recognized and we raced to correct the situation before an escape was consummated. 

The dogs are still with us, and we still use the leaning gate technique, but yesterday we heard a crashing sound that could only mean one thing.  A totally different concern that we live with day to day now.  A sound that brings one of those sick feelings to the pit of your stomach because it means … Mom has fallen.  Chris and I were in the study talking, and Mom was on the couch just around the corner in the den.  She had been restless all day, jumping up at any hint of movement outside, and even opening the door and shuffling out to the front yard before Chris could get to her.  That time she was tracking the movements of the garbage truck.  All without the aid of her walker, I might add.  I don’t know if she just forgets to use it or if she is determined to do it on her own.  We don’t know what caught her eye or struck her fancy this time, but we heard it.  That tell-tale crash that is so different from falling toys or a sliding dog gate.  We both jumped up and raced to her side.  She had fallen in the hardwood floor section of the house, which I guess is better than on the tile.  Her glasses frames were broken, and the first thing I noticed was the bruise already beginning to form around her right eye.  She had a small cut there as well, from the frames.  We also found a scrape on her hand and one on her knee, so we were able to reconstruct the positioning of her landing.  We told her to lie still on the floor for a bit until Chris could get some bandages and some ice.  Chris asked her if she could tell us what hurt, and she managed to get out, “My eye.”  After the bandages were in place we slowly sat her up and on the count of three lifted her to her feet.  She wasn’t all that far from the couch, so we helped her there.  She seemed pretty alert, but her communication skills are not very good any more.  I was wondering about the blow to her head, so Chris asked her, “Do you know what your name is?”  She didn’t answer.  Chris tried again, “What is your name?”  That time Mom looked up at her with a quizzical expression as if to say, “If you don’t know, how do expect me to?”  But still she said nothing.  Finally Chris changed the wording a bit, “What do people call you?”  Instantly she responded, “Oralee.”  Phew. 

She stayed on the couch for the rest of the evening, and did pretty well getting into bed.  She made her usual several trips to the bathroom throughout the night, and Chris said she did OK other than obviously dragging her right leg.  The problem came when she crawled back into bed.  As she eased down onto her back, she grimaced and sat back up, clutching her side first, then moving back to grab her hip.  The night was a fitful one, for sure.  This morning she managed to shuffle to the breakfast table, still with the telltale limp.  She does have a shiner.  And apparently she is still sore on that one side.  The plan now is to watch her closely today and see if she is able to move more freely as the day goes on, which is her usual routine.  I for one am ready for the sound of a different kind of crash.  How about one that signifies the grandkids have found the stash of toys that used to be their Dad’s and are trying to pull them off the shelf?  That’ll work. 

Psalms 92:4 says, “For you make me glad by your deeds, O Lord; I sing for joy at the works of your hands.”

Father, please walk with Mom when she makes her attempts to walk.  Amen.