In An Instant…
In An Instant...
I lay on a stretcher at the hospital just outside the room where the CAT Scan would be done, waiting my turn. I had never had a CT scan in my life. My head rested on an ice pack. A sizable “egg” had formed at the back of my head. I felt shaky, a bit rattled and cold. The friendly technician placed a warm blanket over me. It was very comforting as I tried to make sense of how quickly this day had changed and wondering what the CT scan might reveal.
It had all begun on such a celebratory note. One of my granddaughters was having an ice skating party to celebrate her ninth birthday. Family and friends were invited to skate for an hour at a local ice arena. After skating, there would be pizza, birthday cake and presents to open. It was all very exciting to be there to share this last single digit birthday with my granddaughter.
While I laced up my skates, my husband was already getting action photos of all the girls whirling around on the ice. I stepped on the ice cautiously, as I always do, and began to skate slowly around the arena. I was an adequate skater, never a strong skater. I stayed on the outer circle of little girls, enjoying watching and listening to them chatter to each other.
Have you ever had a time in your life when you felt so energized you threw caution to the wind? I was relishing the moment and gliding on the ice with increasing ease. Then I made a split second decision which changed everything. I began to skate much faster. At some point, I lost my balance and fell on the ice. My backside made the first hard contact with the ice and then my head. I was fortunate I was accustomed to wearing a helmet whenever I skate. The bike helmet cushioned the blow but slid up toward my face, blocking my vision. My eyeglasses bent at a weird angle. I must have looked like a drunken sailor spread eagle on the ice. It seemed, for a moment, I may have blacked out. The next thing I remembered was being helped up and off the ice and on to a bench. I heard myself saying: “This is so embarrassing.”
Now here I was in the hall of the hospital, waiting. A middle aged man was seated in the hall, waiting for his mother to come out of the testing room. We chatted for a while then the door opened and I heard a voice say: “The Head is next”. I chuckled to myself and called back quickly: “I’m the Head”. The new tech being oriented that day called back, sheepishly, from the doorway: “Oh, I’m so sorry, did you hear that?” She then guided the stretcher into the room. I was helped on to another narrow stretcher which would lead into a circular hole in an imposing machine.
When the test was completed, the tech opened the door to the hall. I smiled and commented: “The Head is leaving feet first.” We all laughed, which helped break the tension of the moment. I still had to return to the ER and wait for the results.
As I lay waiting, I wondered what goes through the minds of other patients as they wait for their results. Some will turn out negative but some will not. I had once read, a few years ago, over 62 million CT scans are done yearly in the US. By now, that number has probably risen. So many people waiting for results that could change the course of their lives in an instant…
In my case, I was lucky. I suffered a slight concussion and a bruised backside. This time, I had dodged the bullet. However, it has made me appreciate, at a deeper level, how precious life is yet still unpredictable.
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