The Dreaded EMS Call

I always wondered if I’d get the call. I always felt that statistically, the odds were high. My husband bikes these roads every single day, and it’s something I usually have to put out of my head, given that there are few shoulders, winding roads, and long, steep hills.

Friday afternoon, January 27th, I had only been home from substitute teaching for a few minutes when the local EMS folks called – Mike had been found unconscious on Deer Harbor Road, heading toward West Sound, not far from Kingfish Inn. The EMTs found a piece of purple fabric stuck in his brake. His bike must’ve stopped on a dime while his momentum sent him flying.

Our younger son and I were told to head to the airport where we would meet the emergency truck at the helicopter so that Mike could be immediately airlifted to St. Joseph Hospital in Bellingham. The butter I had just set out for making cookie dough was thrown back in the fridge, and the playdate my son and his friend looked forward to came to an abrupt end as we dropped him off on the way to the airport.

This is all part of island life. It happens to many people here. That’s why we all have memberships to Airlift Northwest and a few other evacuation services. Thankfully, the helicopter ride is quick. On the other hand, it took our son and me six hours to get there by car and ferry. Our older son happened to be coming back from a school field trip in Olympia for government class. We crossed paths with the school van in Anacortes, gave him a hug, and continued on toward the hospital. He would hold down the homefront in our absence.

Upon our arrival, we learned that my husband had broken ribs, a broken clavicle, a perforated lung, a concussion, and a brain bleed. He was conscious, fairly lighthearted, and loopy from the mix of shock and concussion when we arrived in the ER.

Once he was moved out of the ER and into a hospital bed, our son was very uncomfortable watching his normally strong, independent father looking very vulnerable. It was unheard of for me to experience Mike needing help. Therapists came in and told me he shouldn’t go near finances or bills – that he’d pay a bill, forget, and pay it again. Nurses told me that once home, I would be the “gatekeeper,” clearing everything from visitors to daily activities. I prepared myself to be his caregiver for however long he would need me, figuring he’d be let go after a few days.

Three days into our hospital experience, release seemed no closer and I told our son that he might like to get back into his Monday morning school routine at home to feel a sense of normalcy. He decided to give it a go, so I drove him to the ferry terminal in Anacortes where we found someone we knew in the ferry line who could take him across with her. I told him if at any point he felt he wanted to come back, he could call me immediately and I’d find a ride for him to the ferry, and I’d meet him on the Anacortes side so he could return with me to the hospital to see Mike and be with me at the hotel each evening.

That night at the hotel after saying goodbye to Mike was one of the loneliest nights of my life. I’m quite independent myself and tend to enjoy my own company, but this family disruption was a foreign feeling. My husband wasn’t in his right mind, we know no one in Bellingham, and both of our sons were a sea-crossing away.

Delay became the norm, as blood and inflammatory fluid began building between Mike’s lung and chest cavity. A tube was inserted to drain the fluid for as many days as it would continue to come out. The boys lived independently without us, and I opted for a two-day break to come home, clean the house, do a lot of laundry, and put fresh sheets and clean comforters on all the beds in case we needed to switch our bedrooms around for Mike’s ease upon his return. I wanted everything to be really nice for him in case his recovery would be long. I also longed to hug our children and cozy up with them on the couch. We are rarely ever apart.

In the meantime, a pilot friend offered to fly me back to Bellingham. What an amazing offer! Many here who have experienced hospital stays on the mainland have experienced similar offers. Pilots here are so gracious, so generous. In a flash, I was back at the hospital.

After a few additional (and thankfully uneventful) days of having fluids drained, this past Sunday, Mike was released and we returned home via plane, thanks again to the same pilot.

Over his ten-day stay at the hospital, Mike went from barely being able to stand and walk without losing his balance and not remembering one conversation to the next, to walking up and down stairs and thinking clearly about all facets of life. We also experienced everything from sunshine and blue sky to gale-force winds and a dusting of snow.

Friends, relatives, and islanders took care of us and our boys in every imaginable way – bringing meals to the boys and having them over for dinner while we were gone, and sending myriad messages to lift Mike’s spirits. Our boys did a great job at taking care of themselves, by themselves, in a separated way our family has never experienced.

Mike and I have since gone on three slow walks through town together. He’s even making his own coffee in the morning and chopping his own salad at night. His recovery is improving exponentially with each new day. I’m not sure he will need much caregiving at all!

It is very rare for me to write publicly about my husband. I like to preserve his privacy and anonymity. But due to the outpouring of help, encouragement, and support, I wanted to tell you all that you here on this island are so loving, so caring. Mike goes about his life without trying to draw attention to himself, and he is usually strong and solo. He knows people see him around, doing his thing – whether biking on the east side one day and the west side another, or running shirtless in winter weather because his metabolism is sky-high – but it is never for the sake of being noticed. He just plain loves to be out in the elements every single day in this beautiful place. He never expected so many people to come out of the woodwork to make him feel so loved. You have brought him to tears more than a few times with your words and deeds, and if there has been any takeaway from this experience, it isn’t that Mike feels broken, it is that Mike feels held together by all of you in ways he never in this world expected.

Your messages, letters, prayers, offers, and meals have sustained us all physically and emotionally, and taught us so much about your love – as well as how to love others so creatively when it’s our turn. Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts.

Every single medical professional here on the island and at St. Joseph was fantastic. Even the hospital food was superb. And we know how fortunate we are that Mike was only there ten days. Some people are not as fortunate. Some islanders must be away from their families and their homes for weeks, months, even years. Some have to move permanently from Orcas in order to live closer to medical care. We are so grateful to have returned quickly. Now, if you see Mike out on the road anytime soon, check in with him to make sure he didn’t ignore the “gatekeeper’s” advice. 🙂