I Knew It. I Just Knew It!

"Life has become difficult and stressful and I fear something awful might happen at any moment."

Those were my words, Ms J. That's what I wrote in my last post. "I fear something awful might happen at any moment." When did I write that? Monday? Well, on Tuesday I went to the church. I needed help. I wanted to talk to Linda, our minister, to ask for some guidance. I was pretty sure I knew what needed to be done (separate myself from Kelly and hold onto a relationship with Dan and Scout) but I didn't know how to accomplish it. I felt so sad and so sorry. I knew I had re-crossed a boundary and re-broken a promise I'd made to the kids about speaking disrespectfully of their mother. I was hurting inside. I needed some help. So I walked over to the church.

I banged on the front door and Linda opened it.

"Hi Linda," I said. I'd like to speak with you a while. Do you have some free time right now?"

"Not right now," she smiled. "But can you give me half an hour, Dale? I've got someone in my office at the moment."

I told her that was fine. There were a few little tasks I wanted to complete around the church (I'm on the property committee) and I had lots of time before I had to return to work. When Linda went back inside, I turned my attention to the front lawn of the church yard.

We'd had an elaborate Christmas creche there and some of the items had been frozen so tightly in the ground, we'd had to leave them when we'd dismantled the creche. There were eight sheep, two or three white floodlights, and about twenty wooden stakes of various lengths. It was a mild day and I thought perhaps the ground might be soft enough now to allow removal of these items.I worked away happily until I had pulled up all the stakes and all the sheep and all the lights. I just had to carry it downstairs and store it in the boiler room. But how?

I went in the back door of the church and down the steep wooden steps that led to the boiler room. There, I found an empty metal trash bin and carried it back upstairs into the early afternoon sunshine.

"I'll put all the wood in here," I thought, "and carry it all downstairs at once."

I carried the sheep downstairs first and then went back for the floodlights. The stairs were painted a glossy grey colour and my rubber-soled workboots were slippery and wet. As I began my final descent, this time carrying a heavy garbage can full of 2" x 2" wooden stakes, I slipped. I could not arrest my fall. I heard a loud snap like the breaking of a broom handle and as I tumbled and slid helplessly down a dozen more stairs, I thought, "Oh God. That can't be a good sound. I hope I haven't broken my ankle." I held tight to the trash bin, though, as though it might somehow be my salvation.

I lay crumpled at the bottom of the stairs and slowly took stock of my situation. My head was fine. No pain there. I was very worried about my neck and back, but I could move my head and arms and legs. I pushed the bin off my chest and examined my legs. I was shocked by what I discovered.

My right foot was turned out more than 90 degrees and there was an ominous-looking ridge across my shin from east to west. It looked bad, Ms J. Real bad.

The minister and her secretary were upstairs in their offices at the furthest possible point from me. I yelled for help.


"HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME, PLEASE!"

I knew they'd never hear me. I screamed at the top of my lungs.

"HELP!! PLEASE HELP ME!! MY LEG IS BROKEN!! I NEED HELLLLLLLLLLLLP!!!!!!!!!!!

I listened carefully for voices or movement of any kind upstairs, but the only sound I heard was the intermittant drip, drip, drip of ice water as it melted and trickled down from the eves outside the door through which I'd just entered. Somewhere, faraway, I heard a Blue Jay's shrill call.

I knew I was in shock. That's why my leg wasn't really hurting. Yet. I knew it soon would and I'd be in agony. I was all alone. And I tell you truly, Ms Journal, never have I ever felt so afraid. I desperately longed for someone to be with me. Anyone. Anyone. I thought of Dan and Scout at their mum's house in Acton. I thought of Kelly. I wished so much that they weren't all angry with me. I wished so much that I hadn't said what I'd said. I screamed again for help but echoes and silence were the only response I received from the cavernous gymnasium in the church basement.

It seemed hopeless, Ms J. Hopeless. I wondered how long I might lay there before some curious soul investigated the open door outside. It was behind the church. Rarely did anyone venture there. I decided it would be a long time before I was discovered. I began to cry then, deep, wracking sobs of helplessness and despair.

I was in church! The house of God. Where was He? Why had He done this to me? And why didn't He send someone to save me?

I felt my anger rising and so I screamed again. I screamed until my leg began to throb. It hurt like hell, but I didn't care. I just kept screaming.

"GOD!! HELP ME GOD!! WHERE ARE YOU? WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU NOW, EH? HELP ME LORD!! SOMEONE HELP ME!! PLEASE!! I'VE FALLEN DOWN THE STAIRS!! MY LEG IS BROKEN AND I'M SCARED!! I'M REALLY, REALLY SCARED! HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLP!!!!!!!!!!!!"

When the last echo had died away, I heard a voice, a woman's voice, muted, as though behind a wall or a door.

"Hello! Where are you? Keep talking so I can find you."

So I kept hollering. And at last, she found me. It was Patricia Orr.

"What's the matter?" she asked as she crossed the gym floor and hurried toward me.

"I've fallen. I broke my leg. Please get help."

Help had arrived. I had lain there perhaps ten minutes. It felt like much more. I thought suddenly of the victims of an explosion - 9/11 victims in New York perhaps, or tsunami victims in Asia, or even car bombing victims in London or in the Middle East. I thought how horrible it must be to lie there amidst the rubble of a fallen building, injured and frightened, waiting for help that might never arrive.

Susan, the secretary, sat beside me on the stairs and held my hand while we waited for the ambulance. Linda, the minister was there too, smiling benignly but looking so distraught and helpless. Soon the ambulance arrived and whisked me off to the St Joseph's emergency where I waited 22 hours on a stretcher in the hallway. It wasn't too bad, actually. Nurses there offered hourly injections of morphine through an intravenous drip, which I happily accepted again and again.

The doctor applied a plaster cast, but the x-ray afterward showed that the bones had shifted. Both tibia and fibula were fractured at a sharp angle.

"We'll have to operate," the doctor said.

So they wheeled me down to surgery. The wheels on the stretcher were unusually loud and it wasn't until the nurse mentioned it, that I realised it was my stomach. I hadn't eaten for more than twenty-four hours!

Wednesday afternoon, they cut my leg and spliced the tibia with a piece of titanium and fastened it with a couple of small screws. I rested in hospital all day Thursday and this morning, they set me free. I have an appointment at the fracture clinic next Tuesday to have this soft cast removed, the sutures removed and a hard cast applied.

Many friends and family have rallied around to offer help and support. I'm grateful. My friends from church have been tremendous. My sisters. My parents. My preacher called Kelly to tell her what had happened. She called me later in the hospital.

"Dan says he wants to go back to stay with you, Dale. He says he wants to help his dad."

The Boy was here this morning when I arrived. He's been a great help. A long journey lies ahead for both of us. But somehow, we'll be alright. I don't know how, Ms Journal. But somehow, we'll all be alright.