They say that whatever happens in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas. For David this means part of the middle finger on his right hand.
We left San Diego fully intact. We were fine when we landed in Las Vegas. And then all Hell broke loose.
We had promised the kids that they could each get a toy once we got to Las Vegas – something that would keep them occupied in the airport and, hopefully, during at least part of the 3-plus hour flight back to Indianapolis. We got to our gate and settled in amongst our too-many, too-heavy carry-on bags. We were flying Southwest and the kids started playing with one of those poles they use to demarcate the boarding order. This particular pole was the one that has the sign on top with three sides: A, B, and C. It spun around another pole inside of it. “Guys, stop playing with that,” I must have said at least 25 times.
Eventually, Nancy took Dave to get his promised toy and I stayed with Trin to guard the bags (and harangue her about playing with the pole). Dave got a firefighter set from the Husdon News store. They returned and it was my turn to take Trin. She got a white giraffe with hearts all over it, as well as a magnet and a purple pen for Nancy. Just before we left, she noticed a pink pencil adorned with a heart on top. She wanted it as well, but I vetoed her. When we got back to the gate, Dave was happily playing with his firefighter set, but Trin was still peeved about the lack of pink-pencil-with-heart-on-top. I tried to get her on to something else (like her $10 ugly-ass giraffe) but she wasn’t giving in. And so, like all good fathers, I caved…huffily, but still I caved. We made the long trek back to Hudson News, got pencil (now a magic wand) and hiked back.
When I got in sight of Nancy, I saw that she was holding Dave and was talking to another couple. We had been chatted up by several people already about the kids – were they adopted, were they from a previous marriage (my favorite), where were they from, would we like tips on straightening Trin’s hair (uh, no), etc. – and so I thought we were getting more of the same. Nancy caught my eye and motioned for me to pick up the pace a little. When I got there, I could see (and hear) that Dave was crying and Nancy was holding his hand tightly in order to stop the blood flow. The couple in question had brought ice and paper towels to help out.
Dave, it seems, decided that the pole was still more interesting than a firefighter set and started spinning it around again. Nancy heard him say “Ow!” and looked over to see him pull his finger away and grab it with his other hand. Thinking he’d merely pinched his finger, she walked over…
BLOOD…BLOOD…MORE BLOOD…SCREAMING…TEARS SPRAYING OUT OF DAVE’S EYES
By the time I got there, both the airline and the airport had sent representatives to take names and write reports. Paramedics were called. Five showed up…with a stretcher. Together, they determined that Dave needed stitches and that we would have to go to the emergency room in an ambulance, or an Urgent Care center in a cab. We chose the latter, though I think Dave would have preferred the former. In any case, Nancy and Dave got to ride in a wheelchair while I followed, carrying all the bags and Trinity to the taxi stand.
It turns out that cab drivers in Las Vegas know very little about the city itself. It wasn’t that our man didn’t know where this particular Urgent Care Center was; he didn’t seem to know what we were talking about. Street names, landmarks…nothing. But they are better dressed than any other cab drivers on the planet.
In any case, we did finally arrive at the clinic and checked in. Nancy started the paperwork while I watched the kids. Within a few minutes, a nurse came over and told us that the doctor thought that David should actually go to the pediatric hospital. They would triage him at the clinic, but then send him over to the hospital: no need to finish the paperwork. They called Dave in to triage within a few minutes and determined that they would, in fact, be able to treat him since, well, there was no skin left to actually suture and anything the hospital could do, they could do as well.
And so we sat…and sat…and sat…and watched all sorts of people come in after us and get treated before us. Trin was without nap and was morphing into all of the Flying Wallendas at once – running and hopping and flipping and flopping. We turned passive aggressive, talking about our plight in increasingly loud voices. Finally, I went to the window and asked why we were still sitting there in the waiting room. It turns out that since we hadn’t filled out the paperwork we were, thus, not even in line to be seen.
I stuffed the brains back into my head, asked for the clipboard with the forms on it, and filled out the paperwork. No, Dave does not smoke. No, Dave does not currently have a problem with alcohol or drugs. No, Dave does not have ulcers.
And, like magic, he got in to see the doctor. Mary Lou Retton and I stayed behind in the waiting room. She sprinted from one end to the other while I had a nice long chat with Rudy, the guy next to me who got poked in the finger by a piece of luggage and came to the clinic in a panic about staph infections and – yes, he said it – hepatitis. He made at least four phone calls to loved ones while we were there, just in case he didn’t make it, I assumed. Or maybe he knows something we don’t. Like whatever goes in your finger, stays in your finger.
Nancy and Dave returned after about 30 minutes, Dave looking no worse for wear, and Nancy looking a wee bit wan, having actually nearly fainted when they pulled the bandage off his finger and blood began pouring out again. She described it as the sudden sensational combination of ringing in her ears, cold sweats, and a desire to vomit. She decided to sit down, and recovered quickly, or so I am told. I was too busy spotting Nadia Comaneci on the uneven bars.
To be continued....
Monday, January 5, 2009
Thursday, December 18, 2008
A Time To Give
Hi everybody. It’s been a long time. How have you been? We’ve been swamped by kids and school. And I’ve suffered from a serious lack of initiative or inspiration (a little bit of both, I imagine) to keep up with my writing here.
But my friend Beth has both of those things in spades. And it’s rubbed off on me just a little during this holiday season. I’m hoping a little might rub off on you as well.
Here’s the deal…
As you can read HERE, Beth has an old friend from her days in New England – a fellow named Nick. Nick has fallen upon some hard times lately. I’m not talking about the “Gosh, I don’t know if we can afford to keep buying lattes” hard times. I’m talking the “I’m not sure if we’ll be able to pay these medical bills, keep our house, or remain even moderately healthy” kind of hard times.
If you haven’t already done so, read Nick’s story. Now.
So anyhow, the long and short of it is that Nick’s family is making progress toward their goal, but still need help. I wanted to extend the message to any and all who read this blog with any interest in the hopes that we might be able to help out in some way, no matter how small.
Here’s an address you can send donations should you not be inclined (as I am not inclined) to use PayPal or other online services that require credit cards:
Nick Masi Fund
Saco Biddeford Savings Bank Inst.
252 Main St.
Saco, ME 04072.
I hope this post finds you all well and happy and enjoying the holiday season. You'll be hearing more from me, Nancy and, of course, the incomparable David and Trinity when the new year starts. Until then...
But my friend Beth has both of those things in spades. And it’s rubbed off on me just a little during this holiday season. I’m hoping a little might rub off on you as well.
Here’s the deal…
As you can read HERE, Beth has an old friend from her days in New England – a fellow named Nick. Nick has fallen upon some hard times lately. I’m not talking about the “Gosh, I don’t know if we can afford to keep buying lattes” hard times. I’m talking the “I’m not sure if we’ll be able to pay these medical bills, keep our house, or remain even moderately healthy” kind of hard times.
If you haven’t already done so, read Nick’s story. Now.
So anyhow, the long and short of it is that Nick’s family is making progress toward their goal, but still need help. I wanted to extend the message to any and all who read this blog with any interest in the hopes that we might be able to help out in some way, no matter how small.
Here’s an address you can send donations should you not be inclined (as I am not inclined) to use PayPal or other online services that require credit cards:
Nick Masi Fund
Saco Biddeford Savings Bank Inst.
252 Main St.
Saco, ME 04072.
I hope this post finds you all well and happy and enjoying the holiday season. You'll be hearing more from me, Nancy and, of course, the incomparable David and Trinity when the new year starts. Until then...
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
November 4, 2008
November 4, 2008
Dear David and Trinity,
A few minutes ago, while you both slept in your beds upstairs, Barack Obama was elected President of the United States of America. It's difficult to express how monumental this moment is for so many people in this country. It may not turn out to be the case that he is a great president (we sure hope he is, though), but what he represents is surely great. We weren't sure that we'd ever see the day that an African-American would be elected to the highest office in the nation. And, yet, here we are on the other side of history.
We live in troubled times. The world economy is in crisis. We are engaged in not one but two wars in the Middle East. The nation seems more divided than ever over central social and cultural issues: the rights of gay citizens to marry, the environment, health care, etc. And yet, despite this -- perhaps because of this -- we have broken down one of the longest-standing barriers in our country's history. The long struggle for civil rights is still ongoing in many ways. But tonight things just got a little bit better.
You were each born into this world with some cards stacked against you, simply for the color of your skin. But you are the brightest lights in each of our days: beautiful, smart, hilariously funny, kind, and unconditionally loving. Though you can't now know the significance of this night, you are sure to feel it in the very fabric of your lives. Forty years ago, a man had a dream that people would be "judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character." Tonight that dream came true. The world finally belongs to you, too, and there is nothing you cannot do. Yes, you can.
And so we say this to you: take your lives seriously, live intentionally, love fully, and believe that you can take the world you've inherited and make it a better place.
We're going to bed now. It's late. We'll go upstairs and listen to you breathe the way only the innocent can breathe. We go to sleep tonight knowing that the world has changed for the better (if only just a little) and that this place is a little more hopeful, a little less divided, and whole lot more open to all the possibilities your lives now hold.
Good night, sweet and gentle friends. We love you more than these words can say.
Mom and Dad
Dear David and Trinity,
A few minutes ago, while you both slept in your beds upstairs, Barack Obama was elected President of the United States of America. It's difficult to express how monumental this moment is for so many people in this country. It may not turn out to be the case that he is a great president (we sure hope he is, though), but what he represents is surely great. We weren't sure that we'd ever see the day that an African-American would be elected to the highest office in the nation. And, yet, here we are on the other side of history.
We live in troubled times. The world economy is in crisis. We are engaged in not one but two wars in the Middle East. The nation seems more divided than ever over central social and cultural issues: the rights of gay citizens to marry, the environment, health care, etc. And yet, despite this -- perhaps because of this -- we have broken down one of the longest-standing barriers in our country's history. The long struggle for civil rights is still ongoing in many ways. But tonight things just got a little bit better.
You were each born into this world with some cards stacked against you, simply for the color of your skin. But you are the brightest lights in each of our days: beautiful, smart, hilariously funny, kind, and unconditionally loving. Though you can't now know the significance of this night, you are sure to feel it in the very fabric of your lives. Forty years ago, a man had a dream that people would be "judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character." Tonight that dream came true. The world finally belongs to you, too, and there is nothing you cannot do. Yes, you can.
And so we say this to you: take your lives seriously, live intentionally, love fully, and believe that you can take the world you've inherited and make it a better place.
We're going to bed now. It's late. We'll go upstairs and listen to you breathe the way only the innocent can breathe. We go to sleep tonight knowing that the world has changed for the better (if only just a little) and that this place is a little more hopeful, a little less divided, and whole lot more open to all the possibilities your lives now hold.
Good night, sweet and gentle friends. We love you more than these words can say.
Mom and Dad
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Train in the Distance
The sound of a marching band blasts through the mid-morning air, bouncing off the neighbors’ garages. An insistent train whistle sounds its required alarm in the near distance. A beat up, muffler-less, sub-compact barely slows and then belches through the intersection, ignoring the stop signs. Peanut click-click-clicks across the kitchen floor, turning in agitated little circles, whining for a walk.
Meanwhile, David an Trinity are on each other’s nerves, snipping and sniping at each other in a register that makes Sarah Palin sound like Greta Garbo.
Eddie finds his way into my office and begins digging at a cardboard box seemingly without any intention of finally settling in. It’s all about the clawing.
I can’t hear birds for the voice inside my head that keeps listing all the things that need to get done: yardwork, laundry, shopping, grading, reports, proposals…
And so I go outside and start to pull the weeds that have taken over our driveway. The marching bands continue in the background, but the satisfying “rip” and “pop” of roots giving way joins in and suddenly I feel a little better.
Not everybody loves a sound of the train in the distance. Sometimes where you are right now, as maddening as it can be, it right where you need to be.
Meanwhile, David an Trinity are on each other’s nerves, snipping and sniping at each other in a register that makes Sarah Palin sound like Greta Garbo.
Eddie finds his way into my office and begins digging at a cardboard box seemingly without any intention of finally settling in. It’s all about the clawing.
I can’t hear birds for the voice inside my head that keeps listing all the things that need to get done: yardwork, laundry, shopping, grading, reports, proposals…
And so I go outside and start to pull the weeds that have taken over our driveway. The marching bands continue in the background, but the satisfying “rip” and “pop” of roots giving way joins in and suddenly I feel a little better.
Not everybody loves a sound of the train in the distance. Sometimes where you are right now, as maddening as it can be, it right where you need to be.
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