Summer Trip - Day #2 – A Good Day Gone Horribly Wrong

            Wednesday morning, our first full day in the UP, our plan was to visit Tahquamenon Falls State Park, followed by Whitefish Point.

            We arrived at the Upper Falls and walked the paved path to several overlooks. It was quiet and peaceful, with not too many people out and about yet. The falls were beautiful.         

            We pulled into the Lower Falls parking lot about an hour and a half later.    

            We hiked the boardwalk, taking plenty of pictures. 

     

           And then headed across the bridge over the river to the island. There, we followed the dirt path that looped around the island and back to the bridge.

           We got to the far point in the trail, where the optimal photo op was a downed tree near the water's edge. I walked out that far and took a picture, but thought we should do the tourist thing and take a selfie of me, Hubby, and the dog. I picked my way across the rocks back to Hubby, just as the Brady Bunch Family showed up, so we had to wait for them to get all their pictures in.

Then we went out and perched on the log, trying to figure out how to get a selfie that included the unphotogenic dog. A sweet lady saw us and offered to snap some shots.

The last ones before tragedy struck.

            As I was walking back to the trail, holding Hannah's leash, out of the corner of my left eye, I saw Hubby flying across the ground, his arms over his head like he was Superman without a cape. Until he landed with all his weight on his face and chest. He had tripped on a tree root. 

I don't know. For a moment, time stood still. What had I just seen? Was that my husband laid out on the ground? Was he alive? How badly was he hurt? Or was he hurt at all? Surely, he'll bounce right up and be fine, as if my husband has ever bounced up, even on his best days, since I have known him.

By the time I was kneeling at his side, a woman had taken Hannah's leash from me, and two men were kneeling on each side of him, ready to hoist him up. As I watched him start to push himself up with his arms, I saw the blood dripping off his face.

"Stop, don't get up," I commanded. I don't know what the men who were there willing to help thought of this bossy wife. "Let me get your handkerchief out of your pocket. You're bleeding all over."

            Or did I really say those words? I thought I said them, but I don't remember saying anything. I just remember trying to get to all of his pockets in search of that hanky.

            Once I had it stuffed up against his nose, he pushed himself up and turned around to sit on the ground, the two men each holding a shoulder. And there Hubby sat with a face that looked like – well – looked like it had been smooshed into the pebble-strewn ground. His shirt did too, covered in sand and drops of blood.

I asked if anyone had a container of water, and a bottle of water appeared in my hand, along with a purse-size packet of Kleenex. I washed him off as best I could, while he held his hanky against his bleeding nose.

            When he said he wanted to get up, those two guys lifted him to his feet and guided him to a bench, which was right next to us. All these things – those kind people, whoever it was who took care of Hannah, the bench being right there. A person could look back on this and say, "Oh, your vacation was totally ruined", but I said, "Thank You, God, for having everything we needed to take care of him."      

            When he seemed okay, I walked cautiously to the river's edge to wash my bloodied hands and rinse out his handkerchief. Hannah was sitting next to the bench, concern on her gentle face, and the woman handed me back her leash.

Someone asked if we wanted them to get a cart to take him out – it was more than a half-mile walk through the woods to get back to the car. He said he'd be fine. At the time, since faces always bleed so much that it makes it look like things are worse than they are, I thought he was just banged up and nothing was broken or needed stitching.

            The crowd slowly dissolved. When he was ready, we started the slow walk back. I told him to keep his hat down over his face and not to look up, so as not to scare the crowds of people we met as we plodded along.

At one point, I told him I thought we should go to the ER just to get checked out. When he instantly agreed, I thought, "Shoot, he really is hurt worse than I thought." He hadn't told me yet about the pain in his chest. 

So we made it to the parking lot and he washed himself up a little bit more in the restroom, before we headed to the car.

            The half-hour drive to the hospital in Newberry seemed to take much longer than that. But we finally arrived at Helen Newberry Joy Hospital. The staff there were all wonderful, and even though it's a small hospital in a small town, the ER was busy, but our wait wasn't too long.

The ER doc ordered a CT of his neck, head, and chest, and regular X-rays on his left hand – all places that were hurting.

            The doctor finally came in with the verdict – a fracture on each side of his nose, a fracture on that hand, two fractured ribs on one side, and three fractured ribs on the other side. So a total of eight broken bones, which meant insurance would pay for an overnight stay, the doctor said, to which we said, we're sure we can handle this back at the house.

            And off to our Airbnb we drove, stopping at the pharmacy for a prescription of pain pills, which I knew Hubby wouldn't take, antibiotic ointment, and bandages.

            What a nightmare of a day! But, looking back, it could have been so much worse. And the only thing I could do to make it better was to run back to the store after supper for some ice cream for dessert.