Dear Elli,
Let me tell you about today. You're not going to believe this shit. But I'm serious. This is totally a true story.
I was minding my business this morning, trying to catch up on work from being on vacation last week. Totally normal morning, right? Coffee, emails, phone conversations. But wait, though. Shit is about to get real.
At 10:39AM, my phone rang. It was the "Life Alert" people, telling me my dad pushed the button on his necklace but they couldn't make voice contact with him. They called emergency services, and an ambulance was on the way to his house.
Holy shit, right? So I immediately called my dad. He answered the phone, thank God for small favors. But he's sick and in terrible pain and the paramedics are taking him to the hospital.
Okay. I can handle this. This is familiar territory. Been there, done that. I got this shit. So I get in my car, drive to the hospital, and meet him in the ER.
My father is the toughest man I've ever met in my life. By all accounts, he shouldn't be alive today. He should've died at least five different times over the course of his adult life. But as he always says, "God don't want me and the devil's scared." So he fights through medical issues, big and small, over and over again.
But today was a bad one. Lots of pain. So I sat with him and talked about mundane stuff in between the really bad waves of pain and felt totally helpless like I always do. It really sucks to watch someone you love suffer.
Life sucks sometimes. That's true shit right there, and anyone who tells you something different is a damn liar. But the sucky parts of life make the good parts even sweeter. That's my philosophy and I'm sticking to it. But I'm digressing.
So the transport guy comes into the room after about an hour to take my dad to get a CT scan. He pulls all the wires and cables and tubes out of the wall and we are ready to roll this gurney on down to the scan room, baby!
We get halfway out the door when they call an incoming trauma. Level 2. 61 year old male. Incoming! Now we have to wait for the CT scan because they might need it for the trauma patient. Well, shit.
Before we can even push Dad's gurney back into his room, the Akron Fire Department bursts through the doors of the ER with this trauma patient. This guy's face was covered in blood. Total bloody disaster of a mess. I thought to myself, "My Lord, that guy looks really freaking bad."
As they wheeled the guy past us to the trauma room, he made eye contact with both my dad and me. And he said, "Well hey there!"
The trauma patient was my Uncle John.
My dad's brother.
I'm not shitting you.
My uncle just arrived in the ER as a trauma patient as I sit with my dad, also a patient in the same ER at the exact same freaking moment in time. How does this type of shit even happen?
So here's what happened: My dad called Uncle John before the ambulance came to tell him he was going to the hospital. Uncle John was on his bike in Akron, and decided to ride to the hospital to meet my dad there. Except on his way to the hospital to see my dad, a car hit him. Oh, and then they ran. As if hitting a man on a bike isn't ridiculous enough. May as well make it a hit and run while we're at it. I honestly cannot make this shit up.
Of course I had no idea what happened at the time. I only knew Uncle John was a bloody mess in the trauma room. So I walked over and stood in the doorway as they worked on him until a nurse came to yell at me - probably for being a weirdo voyeur standing outside the trauma room with my jaw on the ground.
I looked at her, pointed inside the trauma room, and said "That's my uncle". She said, "Are you serious?! This has never happened before!" (She has obviously never before encountered the Edgecomb family.) So she told me to go back to my dad's room until they finished assessing my uncle. And that's what I did.
In the meantime, we became famous. Every single employee of the ER knew that the Edgecomb family hit the bad luck lottery on this beautiful sunny Monday morning.
They assessed my uncle pretty quickly, and it became apparent right away that he will be okay. Thank God for small favors.
And that's the moment I started randomly giggling. I'm not a big fan of crying, but I can laugh at the most inappropriate times. I mean, come on! Really?!? Once it became apparent that nobody was going to die today and everyone was going to recover, can we not just giggle a bit at the absurdity of this day? I'm certain everyone who saw me randomly giggling thought I was insane, but I can't help it.
So I walked back and forth between my dad's room and my uncle's room in the ER for a couple hours to keep tabs on both of them while trying to call all of our other family members in an attempt to explain this absurd situation without giggling like a psycho. Both of them were in miserable shape and it was awful. But they are both alive, thank God for small favors.
So here's the diagnosis. My dad has a kidney stone and will have surgery in the morning. Horribly painful, but not life threatening. My uncle has a broken collar bone, some broken ribs, and lots of nasty lacerations. Also horribly painful, but not life threatening. Thank God for small favors.
Our family has experienced some of the most horrific tragedies, mishaps, and just plain ridiculous situations I have ever heard of in my entire life. Kind of like the Kennedy's only without the money.
Somebody asked me today if I was totally shocked when my blood covered uncle went wheeling by me on a gurney in the ER saying, "Well, hey there!". The answer is no. Not really. It was unexpected, but not entirely shocking. I have learned over 38 years of conditioning to expect the most unlikely scenarios to occur on a semi-regular basis. It's all part of the Edgecomb charm.
All is good. Everyone is resting in a haze of morphine. I'm still experiencing random bursts of giggling. And tomorrow is a new day. Thank God for small favors.
I love you.
Mom
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