a day full of mom worry

When Tyler answered on Skype, I could tell by the look on his face that something was wrong.  I was calling to talk about his dead car problem, so in that nanosecond of recognition I assumed it was the car.  But it wasn’t. 

It was Stuart, in the hospital with a concussion, broken collarbone, 5 broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and hamstring problem. 

I’ve gotten this “in the hospital” phone call more times than any mother should have to endure.  I’m sure it’s taken years off of my life.  To Ty’s credit, he’s always calm on the phone, and he gets right to the point: “He’s in the hospital, pretty hurt, but alive, so that’s good.  It could be worse.  Don’t worry.”  

Telling a mother not to worry is like telling a fish not to swim; there’s no self-conscious control.  Mothers are champion worriers.  I know my own sweet mother still to this day worries about me, especially since I’m living on the other side of the world—“I’m ok mom, really.”  And that’s exactly what the boys say to me too: “Calm-down, it’s ok!”

What part of this is ok?  That’s what I want to know.  How badly is he hurt?  I just need to understand what’s going on, so I do what I always do in a crisis: call family and friends, an unrivaled support system of amazing people.  Ty calls his father, who thankfully jumps in the car to see Stu.

Feeling ridiculously helpless and useless, I do the next logical thing: I get on Amazon and order food gift baskets for Stu and 2 books, one on concussions and one on good foods for countering mild brain injury.  I do this, even knowing that he’ll roll his eyes and toss the books aside.

Finally, I get Stu on Skype from his hospital bed.  Most people know the sharp, intense, emotional response of simultaneously feeling relieved and angry with someone who has survived doing something questionable.  For Stu, it’s surviving jumping in ski parks, a super-fun, must-do activity and great way to break bones and get concussions.  I know he loves it; I try to be supportive, but it’s really hard for me.  On Skype, talking to him, I say nothing because I am truly happy to see his bruised face and drugged eyes and hear his wobbly voice.  He does seem ok.  He’s surprised that his injuries aren’t worse, he’s grateful.

That day, I hated being in China, so far away with an unstable Internet and the time difference.  The Internet kept cutting out, my VPN wouldn't work, and then I got a text message from PCV Christine:  “Uhh you read those articles about 2 deaths in Shanghai due to the new strand of avian flu?”  I wonder if the Internet problems are related to this news.

Now, Stu is out of the hospital, recovering, even going to class. 

Here is a big, huge, enormous thank you to Faith, Ginny and Joe, and Mike for being there for Stuart.  And thank you to all of Stu’s roommates, friends, and professors.  Stu, you are one very lucky guy!  Everyone is pulling for you, speedy recovery.

Stu on a good day

Stu on a bad day