It was 4:30 pm on a Friday afternoon. TGIF. My grandboys and I were in high spirits. 25 water balloons were filled, tucked gently into bags and loaded into the trunk for launching from one end of a soccer field to the other. Seatbelts fastened, chattering excitedly, we drove under sullen gray clouds filled with the promise of rain. I tucked sunglasses into my purse. I wouldn’t need them this afternoon. How I wish the sun had been shining that day. Perhaps those glasses would have averted what was to come. The boys jumped from the car and we set up on one end of the field in a park near our home.
Picture a slingshot on steroids. Two people held the surgical tubing of the “Y” and the third pulled back applying enough tension to launch the balloon down the field. 21 balloons launched, one hit the goal line on the opposite end, one within a foot of it. Two more each. Who would break the record?
My ten year old grandson was the next launcher. His eight-year-old brother and I held tight as we felt tension mount for launch. Release! Only no balloon sailed by. I turned to check and was hit with a force so hard I thought my eye might have been torn from my socket. I twisted away from my grandsons and shouted, “Noooooooooo!” before dropping to my knees on the wet grass.
Once a long time ago, in an accident that took piano, guitar, accordion, and flute playing from my repertoire, I knew the moment I lost the use of my left hand. It took the doctors time to discern I’d severed the median nerve, along with a plethora of tendons and ligaments. They saved the hand, albeit impaired.
This day I lost vision instantly. Head wounds bleed profusely, and I had those too.
“Nonna! Are you alright?” The older one asked.
“No, honey, I’m not. Get my phone. We need to call 911.” The younger one found it, but couldn’t get past my password and my thumbprint didn’t work, slick as it was with blood. I had covered my eye with my left hand, where blood now dripped through my fingers into the grass. “Push and hold the button for Siri, then tell her to call 911.”
I heard a woman’s voice near my left shoulder say, “Do you live nearby?”
“Yes. My husband’s there.”
“Good. I will drive you home, and he can drive you to ER. It’ll be faster than waiting for the ambulance.” The boys found my keys and shared the back seat with her chocolate lab as we drove the two blocks home.
“Run to Papa, tell him I’m hurt and to hurry,” I said.
The older one was out the door the second the car stopped. The younger one handed me another wad of tissues to hold over my eye. And, John came. He thanked the woman, and drove us to ER. On the way, I talked to the boys about accidents. It’s no one’s fault. With my brain functioning again, I knew the knotted tubing had torn through the bucket creating, for all intents and purposes a cat of nine tails, which hit me at fierce velocity. My sister joked with me later that with those odds, I should have just bought a lottery ticket instead. I’d be the winner. I reassured the boys by telling them how helpful they’d been when I got hurt, and thanked them for listening so well. I also, silently, shot a thought heavenward thankful that if anyone had been hit, it was me, and not either of those beautiful boys – with their whole lives ahead of them.
At ER, one look at me and I was immediately triaged. 26 minutes from time of accident to medical care. The boys stuck with John and me in the treatment room, quietly observing. Telling me my ‘shiner’ was way more awesome than they’d ever seen, they kept hoping aloud that it was just the abrasions surrounding my eye, and not damage TO my eye, that was the worst of it. They clarified to the surgeon when he arrived that they hoped we could all go home soon so we could have pizza. “Nonna makes the best home made pizza on the planet,” they explained. The surgeon chuckled.
I was not going home. In fact, a surgical team was already making its way to the hospital, the operating room being readied, and I called my son who would need to abbreviate a business dinner and collect his children. Pizza would have to wait for another time.
My surgery finished at 3:00 am. My left eye had been pulverized, my right traumatized. Saving the left was priority one, vision priority two, and three and maybe four. I was mandated to maintain a facedown position 22 of every 24 hours. I made a muffled call to my son and daughter. It’s hard to talk, even with headphones, when one’s nose is a quarter of an inch from the mattress. My daughter flew up, my son met her at the airport and with John they developed my in-home care plan. When my daughter needed to go home, my daughter-in-law dropped by each day, my son checked in a couple times a day, and then my friend, my soul sister and SUP companion, flew from Florida to assist for the next ten days. She rocks. Just flat out rocks.
As I write this it is day 20. Today my surgeon told me he believed we’ve saved my eye. My vision is still compromised in the right eye, and nearly non-existent in the left, but there is hope. I am seeing something. I see shapes, even color (which was questionable given the abrasion to the rods and cones at the back of the eye), and though that vision is lousy, I had none when I went in for surgery. I have a along way to go. But I am hopeful. My left eye has a droopy eyelid that may, or may not self-correct.
“Why?” is the wrong question and takes me down a path of no resolve. Why did the apparatus fail? Why couldn’t that strip of destruction have whipped past going nowhere? Why couldn’t it have hit my shoulder, or hip if it had to hit anything? I’d be dealing with merely a bruise. None of that serves me well, for I find myself in a wallow of despair. “What now?” is the better question, but I couldn’t even ask that one at first. I stepped into a river of pain, and loss, and dependence unlike anything I’d experienced before. Its current carried me resolutely to a location I couldn’t imagine, let alone see. ‘What now’ had me holding still face down, when I’d rather SUP; had me setting a timer not to exceed those two precious hours of ‘up’ time; had me holding my eye lid open for drops four times a day – tan, pink, spicy and yellow. Taming the rebel that lives inside me, “What now?” had me following orders as never before. And, although I’ve not managed the ‘no crying’ piece flawlessly, insofar as is humanly possible, I’ve done what I’ve been asked – to the letter – for sight.
Here is what I know. I could not have endured the fear, the isolation, the pain and then discomfort, and loneliness without you. The first several days, when mandated not to cry, with my whole soul dripping, John would touch my shoulder and say, “How about if I read you a few more love notes?” And he would read what you had written… “love and light; sending healing thoughts; we love you; prayers; bombarding heaven on your behalf…” and so many more. They were the healing of my heart. I meditated peace, imagined neurons knitting together to form the tissue to heal my eye, channeled stillness to let healing do its work. John gifted me with music, you sent your favorite audible books, podcasts, and music all of which helped me transcend the face-plant sameness I assumed for eighteen days. I am now allowed to sit upright more, and lie on my right side to rest and occasionally sleep. A little slice of heaven right here on earth.
I am healing. I am grateful for science, and technology that allowed a man, along with his team, to save a mangled eye. I am awed at the miracle of the human body with its drive to heal itself. I am up for the long road ahead, winding though it may be on my quest for sight, as I rely on others to help make it so.
You, each of you, are the wind beneath my wings.
Laura
Author of The Fifth Sister
Your accident is a stunning reminder of how quickly even loving intentions can change our lives. Your strength and presence of mind is an exemplary beacon of courage. Many are sending you love and know, as do you and John, that God’s devine healing surrounds you.
Thank you so much, Ed. The healing of my eye continues, and I know that is because we are surrounded by your loving supportive thoughts.
Honeylamb, I don’t know why God has given you so much to cope with in your life. But if suffering perfects the soul, you is seriously perfect!
While we’re on the subject, I loved the description of your awesome loved ones rallying round. Though that funnelator may have hurt your eyes, it sure didn’t hurt your mind cause your words still flow like silk. It’s one heckuva gift you got, Girl.
Wrapping you and your darlings in golden thoughts,
Thank you!
Laura, one more tiny and belated strand in the flood of love being sent your way. I’m an old pastoral counseling buddy of John’s, and anyone he loves is automatically my friend. I’m a retired pastoral counselor in Georgia, who has loved Idaho for many years. I cannot begin to comprehend your suffering, but I’m very grateful for the love poured your way–and for your ability to receive it, and experience its power. I will follow with interest as you continue to find the best that is possible.
Laura, I can’t imagine the ordeal you have been through. I am hopeful that you will continue to improve. I just want to say how great your writing is!. You are gifted.
We’ve got much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
Lisa and I wishing you peace love.
Say hello to John for me
My goodness! What a terrible ordeal. I just found out. I’m so sorry about all you’ve gone through. So happy to hear that things are improving. God bless you and hold you tight as you work towards recovery. I will pray for you! Sending you love.
I am crying rivers that you’re not allowed. What a woman of strength and grace under pressure. Praying for you and John.
Laura,
I was taken aback to read how a family fun event could go so tragically wrong! I agree, however much we want to ask “why” about such an undeserved assult, the perserverence you are showing and the expressions of care and support you report are more relevant and meaningful than tha question. Please know of my concern, and my prayers for good progress in your recovery. Having John makes a big difference too!
The powerful impact of this story is enhanced by Its clear journalistic style. It took the wind out of me. I always told my skeptical kids that things like this do happen and as a news reporter I wrote about them everyday. But when it happens to you it’s shattering. Thanks for making this a message of hope – and faith.
Your faith is inspiring. You may have some compromised sight, but you have the clearest possible loving insight into life, love and spirituality. May you continue to heal and be blessed with love from all of those who love you and John for being such amazingly good people.
Blessings your way —
Very brave and moving account. Would expect no less. Hang in, believe in the light. It’s coming.. xo Jeff
Oh dear wonderful Laura, you continue to inspire!! And, as I’ve written several t over the past 20 days, we pray for TOTAL RESTORATION of sight, eyelids, and all!
Love you dearly,
Marti (for Sherman to)
I am deeply moved and troubled to read your narrative, but awed and inspired by your response. Carol and I pray blessing and healing for you and the boys and John and the whole family.
Faithfully, David
May you continue to have grace and help and strength on every step of this journey, dear Laura.
My prayer for you is:
LORD God of Hosts, continue to do the miraculous and restore Laura’s sight to glorify Yourself and to minister Your sweet and enthralling love for Your lovely daughter, Laura. Show Your tender mercies day after day and encourage John as he ministers love and care to her. In the sweet name of Jesus we pray, amen.
THANKS FOR WRITING ABOUT YOUR ACCIDENT. HOW HORRIBLE AND HOW FAITHFUL IS OUR GOD. PRAYING FOR CONTINUED HEALING. YOU WILL GET YOUR SIGHT BACK. YOU HAVE TOO MUCH VALUE TO LOSE IT. MUCH LOVE TO BOTH OF YOU.
In Gratitude and Wonder and Peace of Mind….
“Jehovah Rapha we call on You now to continue and complete Your healing in Laura’s body, soul and spirit. Use her for Your glory!” Amen.
Wow Laura. What beautiful writing! Please know that you remain in our prayers. God is a God of miracles! “Jehovah Rapha we call on You now to continue and complete Your healing in Laura’s body, soul and spirit. Use her for Your glory!” Amen.
What an ordeal. You described it with words which helped me understand what happened to you. May God continue to heal you and give you strength. You have a wonderful partner to support you. Continued prayers are coming your way.
Thank you Laura for sharing your horrific accident…in reading I found myself flinching at times, I just can’t imagine the pain. I am so thankful you are healing, and praying your sight will return. So nice to have Johnny’s wonderful music, that would make your heart smile. Keep on keeping on, He is faithful.
Thank you for sharing this journey. I pray that your vision continues to improve.
Thank you, Laura, for the update and reminder to keep on praying, asking God for a surprising recovery from this horrific injury. When I was 23 years old, my right eye was severely damaged when it met a steel dashboard at 65 mph. For months, I feared the possibility of loss of sight in that eye. Next, I feared the annoyance of permanent double vision. “We don’t know yet,” was all the opthomologist could tell me. I learned a great deal about the sufficiency of God’s grace during those difficult months. I’m praying that you, who has already learned so much about grace, will be the recipient of much during this season of recovery and discovery!
Blessings and prayers, my ‘warrior’ friend…Sue
You are so strong Laura. You will overcome the obstacles ahead because of you, John and a wonderful support system of family and friends and prayers.
Please keep us posted as that really tells us how strong you are.
You are the wind under me!…and so is John and everyone who have been there helping and loving. Thank you for sharing this. You are in our thoughts throughout the day.
Praying for healing as well as for comfort in knowing that the Lord loves you and is always close “to the broken hearted”. This I know from personal experience (very recent) so I pass it along to you. Hold fast to what you know is true, Laura because God is faithful and loves you and so do I!
You are so special and wonderful.
Thank you for sharing your story of love , courage, and support from your family and friends .
Sending you healing waves to regain your eyesight.
In the meantime please know that we’re all praying for you.
Love,
Joy
Thank you for sharing. My goodness. Accidents happen. That is part of life, but we just hope it doesn’t not happen to us. And then it does. Prayers your way. Strength for the journey.
David
Laura, harrowing exoerience and accident; there is no blame with accidents. Thankful you are alive! AND, that you are able to begin more fully sharing your journey amidst this particular experience. AND sharing your journey to “What now” rather than sticking in the molasses of the “why?” Prayers firceye-healing and well-being continue.
Oh, Laura. I don’t know what to say. How awful. And how lucky all of your family is to have each other. Continued prayers…
Much love,
Meredith