Within an Inch of Her Life:Part 2

     Last week I described to you how wonderful Wednesday ended for me, let's go right into Thursday.

     Another day of mowing grass and chomping up weeds.  Two sections of pasture were left before I could move to the West side of the acreage.  

     Yellow rays of sunshine were cascading down upon our farm this morning.  My first and immediate task was to locate the calves born the day before.  Summoning my amateur calf bawl, Cows 131 and 149 came running, right to calf 149.  

     Standing twenty feet from the calf and assessing that they were both calm and the calf was lazily climbing to his feet, I pulled the truck beside him and put a tag in it's right ear.

     Texting a photo to my husband with the words, safely and efficiently, he responded with, "How did I know?"  Without saying it he warned me to be careful and that I knew what he meant before leaving for work that morning.  Cow 149 was taking extreme security measures the evening before which did not allow my husband to tag her calf.  I didn't want to pass up an easy opportunity and I just love that I can accomplish it.

     Driving around the field, bawling, I could not summon Cow 131 to show me where she hid her baby girl.  Beginning with the section farthest from Calf 149, I began cutting grass.  Finishing I moved to that patch, again calling to Cow 131 and she will not give up her location. 

     Sighing, I cut the entire rectangle gritting my teeth, my body so tense that my shoulders were up to my ears and my eyes darting right and left constantly.  Assuming she hid her somewhere in the grass that I had cut the day before and I'm not able to see her, I move on. 

     Driving into the hay lot, I decide to clip the little bit of grass that

has grown up through the chat rock before moving onto the West ninety acres.  Unable to recall if there are any large rocks in there, I raise the mower deck a bit to be cautious.  

     I could only drive forward and back up to each fence line instead of turning around due to space.  Backing up for the last eight feet stretch, I shifted into forward, let the clutch out and hear the dreaded sound.

     For the second day in a row, I hit the PTO with my fist as I braked, idled down and threw the tractor into neutral with a plethora of emotions swarming over me.  I'm not sure how I exited the cab so quickly or how I did not stumble as I shuffled to the rear of the mower.  As I neared the fence, I saw her. 

     No. No, no, no, no, no.

     Her eyes tell me she has passed, but she looks perfect.  I instinctively reach out and her black hair is hot from the sun and her heart is beating ferociously against my palm.  I hope against the odds as a mere thirty seconds pass by as her heart slows to nothing.

     Looking her over, I find only a quarter size, "nick" on the back of her head.  As I pulled the mower forward, she had raised her head from her slumber.

     I'm sick with despair.  I took the very life that I had worked so hard to save the day before.  Sitting on the tire of the mower, my heart feels like there is an anchor tied to it.  This is not the first farm animal tragedy, but it is the first dealt by my hand.  It is not just the unnecessary life taken, but each farmer understands that a dead calf does not pay the bank note. 

     There is nothing left that I can do.  I tell her and her Momma, "Sorry bout that."  and climb pathetically into my tractor seat. 




 I was on a nineties music kick that day, my mouth fell open as my ears pick up on Ozzy Osbourne's voice singing these words, 

 "These are your final days.  See you on the other side."

    

 Shit. You. Not. 

 

 

   

   Ozzy's Song

Let's Go Home

       During those days after my second surgery there was an instant when my husband and my Mom were in the room with me, I was curious as to what actually happened to us.  Not quite understanding the details or maybe the details were blocked as a safety measure by my own instinct, I asked them for specifics about the crash. 

     I had no recollection that there were four vehicles involved.  I thought it was just him and I.  Four vehicles,that's a big deal.  Inquiring about the other motorist, they broke the news that we were hit by a drunk driver and that he did not survive.  

     Time froze in that moment of realization, complete shock encompassed me.  I could barely obtain a clear thought anyway, but this had me in astonishment.   Their images were obscured as I tried to grasp their words.  I was involved in a fatal car crash, this was hard to fathom.  I asked many questions.  Sometimes asking the same questions over again because I didn't recall asking them the first time.  This stage replays in my head many hours of the day as I try to comprehend.

  I was  involved in my own thoughts when I heard my Mom say something about my face.  Oh my Gosh!  I had been consumed with my ankles and hadn't even considered that I may have lacerations or burns.  In fact, I had not even looked at myself above the waist, at least that I could recall. 

      I asked for a mirror and they explained the left side of my face was burned from the airbag.   When I viewed my image I was a taken aback by the reflection.  I scanned my face and it was red from the burns and starting to peel in some places.  There was a perfect line down the center of my face since I had apparently turned my head to the right when we were struck.  

      I examined the rest of my body to find it was beaten up as well.   My left shoulder had a deep throb in it, like something was torn.  I had minimal movement with it.  Bruising was shown everywhere on my person especially on the left side of my body.  Deep, purple bruising.  My body was riddled with them as well as cuts and scrapes.   How my face and upper body were spared from the glass I can't figure out.  The glass had only penetrated once at my hair line and once above my lip.  Minor scars for such a severe tragedy.  




  

   Daytime softened into night and on my ninth day of being stationed on the orthopedic floor of the hospital, the day before I was released, I was jolted to consciousness by an immeasurable pain afflicting my right lower leg.  It was centered exactly over my fibula that had been crushed.   It stole my breath and ability to speak.  My husband was swiftly by my bedside asking what was causing such drama from me.  In the midst of expressing my thoughts, I could feel the spasms forthcoming.  It began slowly, as to let me know I had better prepare, then it rushed in a wave of convulsions.  I thought my leg was being shattered all over again.  

My husband called for the nurse as I collapsed back to my pillow.  The lines around my eyes grimaced as my eyes slammed shut, gasping.  There was a traction device over my bed and with the next spasm I grasped the handle and  growled as my teeth clenched together furiously.  Involuntary short grunts were coming out between my gritted teeth as I endured the torture.  

     This happened time and time again, never relenting.  This behavior is not an action I am accustomed to.  I have no control over this.  A sob escaped my lips as I was fighting another convulsion,  I can't take anymore.  "Please!" I begged silently.  In desperation, my husband grieved, " Oh Carey" as he laid his head on the bed beside me while grasping my right arm,  my amazing nurse let tears fall as I fought through this. She frantically called for the physician to obtain permission for an additional dose of Dilaudid.  My cries were great as she pushed the brilliant fluid through my IV.   Quickly the spasms subsided as I abandoned awareness.


     The humor of my coming experiences were just beginning.  The next morning all thoughts of the previous day were forgotten as my nurse entered my room explaining that I could be discharged as long as I had a bowel movement.  She was candidly holding a suppository in her hand and asked if I wanted her to insert it or if I preferred to do it myself.  My head whipped over to look at her hand and I was bewildered and appalled.   It was like she was asking me if I wanted cereal or eggs for breakfast.   "Uh, I'll do it" I stammered.
     
  Good grief, the things I have to go through!  I knew anytime you have surgery or an extended hospital stay that this was policy, I just hadn't thought about it for myself.  Later, I was abash when my husband informed me that this wasn't the first time I had encountered the nurse with a suppository.  I'm overjoyed that I don't remember these incidents. 

     A physical therapist taught me how to get out of bed and transfer myself to the wheelchair.  We toured the orthopedic floor as I learned to maneuver my new ride.   I giggled at the thought that they let me operate it while under the influence of such strong pain meds.   We were in good spirits and on the tenth day I was released to go home to live without Dilaudid.  

"When something bad happens to you, 

you have three choices.

You can let it define you, 

let it destroy you, 

or you can let it strengthen you."

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