“Hannah, you should come home. Your mom fell, and she’s on her way to the hospital.”
Oct. 18 was an eerie day for me. I started my Friday by finishing up the week’s work and doing my laundry.
This was the first weekend I wasn’t going to spend with my family in three weeks – parent’s weekend, October break and a trip to Chicago took up my time in early October. This weekend, in particular, my boyfriend was going to Vermont with his family.
While completing my morning activities, I had an odd feeling that I should be home.
Walking across the Unispan that afternoon, I had the worst pit in my stomach. I refused to get lunch because I thought I would hurl. At that point, I was still unsure why I felt so wrong – I chalked the feeling up to being homesick.
On my walk to my boyfriend’s car, I continued to ignore the feeling. There was no way I could run home to my family simply because I missed them.
Then my phone rang.
My stepdad normally doesn’t just call me. I assumed he was trying to prove a silly point or ask me a question, so I responded in a chippy tone because I was excited to talk.
From his first “Hi,” I knew something was wrong. His introductions were cut off short by a call from my mom … weird. He told me to ignore her and “just listen to him.” Again, weird.
He told me my mom was on her way to the hospital because she fell from a ladder getting Christmas decorations from the attic – yes, Christmas decorations in October – that’s my mom.
I panicked. At this point, my boyfriend was just pulling out of the parking lot, so I was waving my hands and running like a madman, trying to get his attention as he was my only way home.
I felt I had to call my mom back, but after she answered, I just continually said, “I’m coming home,” like there were no other words I knew.
That car ride was the worst experience of my life. It was three and a half hours of dead-stop traffic on top of an explosive headache. I had a few calls during the ride, which made me hate the traffic even more.
My grandmother called to ask if she should fly home from Florida, my aunt reassured me that my mom was a little messed up, but okay, and my cousin asked me if my mom was dying.
We drove straight to Yale New Haven University Hospital. My stepdad greeted me at the main door and told me not to worry. He told me my mom was okay, but I hadn’t seen her, so how did I know?
When we entered the emergency room, she didn’t look too banged up, but it’s hard seeing your mom in a neck collar, not being able to move comfortably.
We were in the hospital for two hours before we heard any results. The computed tomography (CT) scan reported she had a compression fracture in her L1 vertebra and a fractured spinous process. At 9 p.m., I reluctantly left to pick up my younger brother from a friend’s house.
The whole drive home I was contemplating if I should tell him what was going on – all he knew was that Mommy and Daddy had something to do, so he was with his friend. Ultimately, I didn’t tell him anything, and we fell asleep on the couch watching “The Lorax” together.
The next morning, my mom was still at the hospital on spinal precautions, but she was cleared to leave once she got her brace and could live life as normal with some precautions. No bending, no twisting, no lifting. Do you know how much you bend, lift and twist in a day? A lot.
The rest of my weekend was spent constantly watching her to make sure she didn’t hurt herself. I know she was painfully annoyed by my nagging, but I hated to see my mom hurt. I wanted to help her heal as much as she had helped me when I was sick growing up.
Helping around the house has been trying – I’ve never washed that many dishes or done that much laundry in my life. You don’t realize how much one person does for you in their lifetime until you’re in their shoes.
That weekend, we decided as a family that I would come home on the weekends to help.
My mom, however, was nervous because she didn’t want to ruin the “college experience” I should be having. I don’t feel my college experience was necessarily ruined, as I’m not the type of girl to go to parties on the weekends, but I can understand my mom’s concerns.
Honestly, though, I would rather be with my mom.
On a brighter note, my family has collectively learned a valuable lesson from this experience; just wait until December to get your Christmas decorations from the attic.