Slight change of plans

When we set out on this adventure, the intention from the very beginning was the biggest DIY project we had taken on.  My husband and his dad love working together, and so much of this has really been their project.  My father-in-law has played the role of general contractor on most of the things we have hired out and has spent more time on the site than the rest of us.  Change of plans now…

The kids say prayers every night at bedtime and almost always ask the Lord to cover and protect anyone working on our house—Dad, Grandpa, me, friends, and any hired workers.  They also worry that Grandpa works too hard and needs to slow down.  This week, gravity forced him to slow down.

While moving the scaffolding with the help of a worker who has been out here a few times, Grandpa decided not to wait to hand off a section of scaffolding support and to toss it to the ground instead.  The area was clear so he let it go.  It, however, did not let him go.  Some piece of it caught on his glove and took him down, 15 feet, right along with it.  I was inside working on the computer and heard something metal fall.  It sounded like a ladder.  Many would jump at the sound, but I hear construction stuff going on all day long; I generally wait to hear voices after something falls so I know everyone is okay.  This time, something told me to get up to investigate the sound.  Before I was even out of my chair, Jose was banging on my window gesturing for me to come quickly.  I flew to the entry way, through on my boots (no time to put on socks) and ran out the front door while hollering for my son to grab my phone anticipating the dialing of 911 based on Jose’s expression.

When I turned the corner of the house, I saw my father-in-law motionless on the ground and all the worst images rushed into my head.  This may have been the most terrifying moment of my life.  I immediately started crying out to the Lord and praying that Grandpa was alive, although he did not look to have much life in him at the moment.  By the time I reached him, I breathed a huge sigh of relief to at least hear him moaning—he wasn’t dead.  Now, to assess the situation.  Thankfully, I tend to keep a cool head in emergencies.  I checked for obvious head injuries—there were none, his brains were all still in his head.  I looked for anything on which he might be impaled—nothing.  I looked for open fractures—nothing apparent.  I did see blood, but I had not yet determined its source.  Then he started to move more and regain a little more consciousness, and I ran all the options for emergency care through my head. 

Somewhere during that time, my 13-year-old son brought me my phone.  I know he was terrified.  I could see it all over his face.  (He really came through for me that day and became my 13-year-old hero, staying calm, keeping his younger sisters away from the scene and taking charge at the house after I left with Grandpa.)  As I assessed Grandpa’s condition, I also assessed how long I thought it would take an ambulance to get to the house after I called 911 and they located our rural address.  I also assessed if there was any way Jose and I could safely get him into the truck and drive him to the emergency room myself.  Then, I had to decide whether to take him to our local ER or drive 30 minutes into the suburbs where the ER might be a little better.

[When we considered this property, we considered many factors.  Not the least of which was its proximity to a freeway with direct access to the bustling suburbs with their many shopping facilities as well as medical centers nor the fact that just across the freeway and one mile down was our small rural hospital.  Several locals had informed me that the ER here is good, you just don’t want to go there for major surgery—head into the suburbs or the main medical center for those things.]

He started moving more and began talking and asking to be moved into the shade (for some reason, he got really hot).  (He told me later that he remembered me yelling at him to be still.  I’m fairly certain I just used my stern mom/teacher voice, but whatever worked to get him to be still is fine with me.) He appeared to have landed on his left side, and once he moved, I figured out where the blood was coming from.  Somewhere between the top of the scaffolding and the ground, his left leg had violently collided with something that had torn him up pretty badly.  It was a nasty gash, although more of a deep rip.  By this time, my girls were nearby and I called for my 11-year-old, the future vet with a strong stomach, to bring me some towels to wrap his leg and help control the bleeding.  She quickly ran inside and returned with two bathroom hand towels and, as she handed them to me, leaned over to get a good look at Grandpa’s wound.  (That’s my girl…)

Since he was moving and did not appear to have a significant back or neck injury (amazingly enough), I decided Jose and I could get him into a vehicle.  I did take a brief second to assess whether I wanted to take him in his truck or my car and decided that, since his truck was closer and I didn’t really want blood in mine, we would take his.  The keys were in the cup holder.  My son moved some boards out of the way so I could get the truck as close to him as possible.  Once I pulled up the truck, Jose and I helped him climb in and get him buckled and we were on our way to our local ER.  Now, I had to call my husband and mother-in-law, which thankfully went pretty well.

Our local ER is no trauma center, but I have never been in an emergency room where the patient was taken to CT and X-ray within 5 minutes of coming through the door.  Therein lies the blessing of the quiet rural town.  My father-in-law was one of three patients being seen at the time and given that his condition appeared serious, he got priority.  They took him to get checked out while I got him checked in and my mother-in-law arrived. 

Long story short, it ended up being a lot better than it could have been.  He ended up getting transferred to a major facility in the city due to trauma caused to his lung.  He had fractured three transverse vertebrae and had a terrible laceration on his left thigh.  We immediately sent out text messages, phone calls and emails to family, friends, church groups, etc. to start sending out prayers for his condition.  Prayers were answered quickly too!  When he arrived at the major trauma center in town, his lung was no longer an issue (at the local ER, he was having serious pain in his chest and they had clearly seen a small pneumothorax).  Praise the Lord, for healing him quickly!!  They did take him to surgery to repair his leg and kept him a couple of nights for observation.

Now home and recovering, this has been a wake-up call for him to slow down—the harsh realization that he is no longer 25 years old.  It also means that my husband’s primary build team is down from 2 to 1, so we are going to be hiring out a little more than we had intended.  That’s a small price to pay and of much less of a concern than Grandpa’s recovery though.