If you follow me on social media, you know that last week was an eventful one. Tim and I usually only text each other during the day, so when my phone rang last Tuesday I was immediately on edge. Tim called to report that he’d stepped on a loose deck board at a job site and fell. He took the force of the fall in his chest and had the wind knocked out of him for a few seconds. He thought he’d be okay if he went home for the rest of the day but the pain wouldn’t let up. He was calling me from Williamson Medical Center’s emergency room. He suspected he’d just bruised his ribs, but he wanted to confirm nothing was broken. He’d had a CT scan and told me he’d get back to me when he had the results. Though I was very concerned, I didn’t think it was time to panic yet. I impatiently waited for Tim to text me with an update. When my phone rang again, I knew this was serious. The CT scan showed some internal bleeding so he was “being sent to Vanderbilt” because they have a trauma team. Now I was panicked. I’m not sure what I expected as far as Tim getting over to Vanderbilt, but certainly not what actually happened. Tim later reported that the transport to Vandy was via ambulance with lights and sirens blaring. He was coming in hot as a trauma patient. Upon his arrival, nurses yanked his possessions and cut off his clothes in their rush to examine him, get blood samples, and do another CT scan. I was an absolute wreck upon hearing this. I made myself a margarita with a generous portion of tequila. Drinking this on an empty stomach calmed me down pretty quickly. Tim texted me several minutes later to let me know he was waiting for the results of the second CT scan. But we couldn’t chat long because his battery was down to 9%. Eventually, the test showed that his kidney had been bleeding but seemed to have stopped. Vanderbilt decided to admit him overnight for observation. Reagan was a trooper. She was experiencing her fair share of anxiety but came home with dinner for her and Pierce then stayed at the house for the night. She told Pierce that dad was in the hospital. He didn’t seem distressed or ask any questions, but the next morning he went straight to Reagan’s room to ask if dad was home yet. He checked our bedroom a couple of times just to be certain that dad wasn’t hiding in there somewhere. Thankfully, Tim didn’t experience any complications during the night. Based on his bloodwork the next morning, Vanderbilt’s trauma team cleared him to be discharged. He finally made it home Wednesday afternoon. While this was certainly scary, we are grateful that Tim’s condition wasn’t as serious as it could’ve been.

This incident brought so many fears to the surface. While I’m mostly fine with being alone out here, I occasionally wonder what I would do if I suddenly needed medical attention. But even more worrisome is the possibility that Tim or my kids could be seriously injured and I wouldn’t be able to get back to them for 24-36 hours. I knew Tim was in good hands and that there really wasn’t much I could’ve done at the hospital. My soul was soothed by the prayers of our friends and their offers to provide us with anything we may need. My family was well cared for in my absence. Even so, I couldn’t stand not being there at my husband’s bedside or home with Pierce (who was suddenly missing both of his parents) and Reagan (who was as scared as I was). I don’t feel guilty about being here because I know this change of scenery is necessary for my mental health. But last week was a reminder that this is not a total escape from reality. Life happens, therefore terror and anxiety will find me even in the tropics.

Thank you SO much for your prayers, for the friend who visited Tim in the hospital and brought him a phone charger then later gave him a ride home, for another friend who retrieved Tim’s truck from Williamson Medical Center, for the neighbor who brought my guys some dinner, and for the many many texts and messages from friends offering support. Y’all are a Godsend.