The Call...No Mother Wants to Get

Sunday morning arrives bright and sunny. I decide not to waste a minute and pad out to the kitchen to put the coffee on to brew while I stretch and yawn, forcing myself to wake up early. It is 7:00 am. Life is good, I reflect, as I open up the computer, basking in the memories of the night before…with my little family gathered around our dining room table celebrating another birth year for our daughter. Love and laughter filled the room that night…all is well.


The phone rings startling me out of my reverie. It is now 7:45 am. I look at the call display wondering who would be calling this early on a Sunday morning. The display shows my daughter-in-law’s cell phone number. Hmmm…I don’t hesitate for a second…and pick up. Her lovely little voice at the other end sounds tentative, but calm. “Good Morning”, I say smiling into the mouthpiece. She doesn’t immediately indicate the reason for her call, so after a few pleasantries, I ask “So, what’s up with you guys”. It is at that moment, with a short pause and intake of breath, I hear the words no Mother wants to hear. They are at the hospital…my son had an accident. My heart stops. I stop breathing for a second, not wanting to burst into tears, I prayed silently while she continued. She explains how it happened, and at the moment they are waiting for an orthopedic surgeon to arrive as my son needs emergency surgery on his foot and ankle. The injury is still not fully diagnosed. All this took mere minutes. I was already rising out of the chair, and with a wobbly voice, I told my daughter-in-law that I was on my way. “Good,” she said, “I know he would want you here!”

Wild horses couldn’t keep me away! I ran in circles for a few minutes, flinging clothes here and there until I found something suitable for early morning with a chill still in the air. I called A…and without any detail said, “We have to go to the hospital, our son is waiting for surgery.” Not missing a beat, he said that he would be right home. We had a ½ drive to the hospital. It felt like 2 hours. We were both silent on the way, digesting all the ‘what if’s’ known to man. A senseless accident that should never have happened, but nevertheless, happened. Now, our son is paying the price. I silently thanked God that the injury wasn’t worse and still…my heart is broken. Why not me instead? I don’t know if I can bear to see him hurting. God help me!

I wait at the ER reception. I stood there staring at a sign that read something about new rules. Only one visitor at a time…and immediate family only…the sign read. Not today, please not today, test me with my mother bear instinct raging through my veins! The receptionist finally reappeared, and took one look at our faces, and signaled for us to follow her. Trying not to trip on her heels, we followed. The sounds and smells in the ER were the same, the same as the last time, a couple of months ago. God help me! I can’t do this! How many more times will I need to pass through those swinging doors not knowing what the outcome will be??

I see him at the end of the long hallway. He is on a bed, with his leg casted and raised high. His arm is behind his head, and he has a tiny smile forming at the corner of his mouth. What a beautiful sight…that smile…the smile that has melted my heart for 26 years! He is being so brave. I enfold him in my arms and thank God again… for my son! His sweet wife is standing close by and one look tells me…she has not been to bed. Her face is pale and the worry makes her eyes bluer and deeper in their sockets. I hug her. She too, is being so brave. They both look grateful that they have someone to share this stressful moment with. It takes forever, or so it seemed, for the surgeon to arrive. He arrives and tells us the team is getting the OR ready. He focuses on my son, never losing eye contact with him. He explains what needs to be done surgically. He explains that the injury to his foot and ankle is severe…explains the probable outcome…explains the prognosis…a 10% chance that the foot and ankle will heal properly…explains that hopefully our son will be one of the 10%. Not good odds, but we cling to that. We cling to the fact that he is young, healthy, and has the best attitude!

We follow the gurney through the halls. I kiss him and wish him well…ensuring he knows we will be here… waiting for him when the surgery is finished. He smiles, and they turn the corner…he is now out of sight. The waiting room is empty, thankfully, as I only have enough energy to sit there…and wait. I wait a little longer. Finally and dreadfully I pick up the phone to call our daughter. How I hate to be the bearer of bad news, and so soon after our fun filled evening the night before. She sounded so happy when she picked up, but reality kicks in and she asks why I am calling from the hospital. Oh God…I can’t do this!! I can’t put her through any more pain…but I have to! I kick myself for making her cry…I wish I can be in two places at once…because I need to hold her in my arms and tell her …it will be all right. The rest of the day is a blur…2 ½ hours later, the surgeon explains the surgery in more medical jargon that I am still trying to decipher.

So now we wait…each day and week…a little closer to healing. It will be a journey for our son, but he is steadfast, and is making the best of a bad situation. He is surrounded by love…and love trumps everything else! He is home now, safe at last. His family will surround him every step of the way. He is showing us the way. He is showing us how to cope; how to keep the faith; and how to stay positive. I am willing to be taught this…I want to be taught this…as I can’t take the injury away…the acceptance will be slow, but I will get there…with his help and guidance. He is truly amazing.