WHAM-BAM...SUPER SLAM!

Recently I discussed in this blog the wonderful sidewalks of Kitimat. How they meander unobtrusively through the town...through the neighbourhoods...linking schools, and churches, and playgrounds, and shopping centres, and businesses. How they are meticulously manicured in the summers and ceremoniously cleared of ice and snow in the winters. How those serendipitous cement walkways are a celebration of the environmental sensitivity and community friendliness of this fabulous little northern British Columbia town of Kitimat.

Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!

I take it all back!

Two weeks ago my lovely bride of 41 years and I were strolling peacefully along one of these 'wonderful sidewalks'. Side by side...almost holding hands...enjoying the golden serenity of a fresh, warm summer's day. Amicably conversing about a wonderful life (Diane had just turned 60 the day before). Love was in the air! (heehee) We were headed for a quaint little bistro where the soups and paninis are to die for.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, with the silence and stealth of a B-2 Bomber, a cyclist slammed into Diane from behind and crushed her to the ground beneath his full adult weight of 180 pounds...leaving her with several cracked ribs, a bruised wrist, a confused and disheveled countenance, and a shattered dream of spending precious 'alone time' with the 'pitter-patter' of her heart (that would be me).

Cousin David had picked Philip up just minutes earlier - we were 'alone' f0r at least 2 hours. (You can tell we're getting old 'cause we bolted out of the house to grab a soup. Years ago we would have bolted down the hall to grab a...well, you know!).

In the cyclist's defense, who readily admitted to travelling too fast and neglecting to announce his presence, he did make a valiant effort to protect his victim as they crashed to the recently manicured grassy knoll! But in doing so his left arm , which he had wrapped around Diane to cushion the impact of the impending 'splat', crushed her rib cage and temporarily knocked the wind out of her (now there's a joke in there somewhere, but I'll defer to my better judgement this time...my ribs are still intact!).

After we helped Diane up, brushed off the grass and twigs, and stabilized her stance, she kicked into true 'Diane-mode'. "Are you okay, sir? Are you hurt? I'm okay...are you?" (of course he was okay...he landed on top of you!). I stood there in silence, amazed at her 'take' on the situation (yet not surprised). But I lost it when she asked him if his bike was okay? Is your bike okay??? I'm surprised she didn't peel off a twenty to cover his damages!

Diane assured one and all that she was fine. The 'mad bomber' picked up his unscathed 'weapon of mass destruction' and slowly pedalled away. We proceeded on our way...holding hands now...and Diane in complete denial. Twenty minutes later we were at the hospital. Doctors were called...x-rays were taken...instructions were mandated. Overnight was not an option...we were good to go.

This is actually Marilyn Monroe's chest x-ray ...taken at age 28. I felt it was quite comparable to Diane's ...taken at age 60 (hmmm).

We got home before Philip. Diane was in severe pain - couldn't breathe deep or cough. The couch became her refuge...Tylenol and Aleve her best friends. In came Philip... full of vim and vigor and displaying more energy than that 'silly rabbit'! We told him of the afternoon's events. He was genuinely troubled...expressed sincere concern...asked a lot of questions. Then gave his mom a big hug!

She had just been crushed by a 180 pound stranger. She was now being hugged by her 180 pound son. Not a word...not a wince out of her! Wrapped in his embrace, Diane looked past him, right at me...a stern warning look emanating from her tear-filled eyes...letting me know it was all good.

He, nor anyone, has hugged her since. She's healing perfectly, according to schedule, and far be it from me , or Philip, or anyone, to jeopardize that process. After all, we're leaving for Ontario this weekend, and hauling those suitcases through the airport is going to be hard enough on her! (just kidding...or am I?).

A few days after that insidious incident I took Philip to the scene of the crime. As we came around the corner, just a few meters from the site, we were greeted by a blockade...announcing that the walkway was closed.

I couldn't help myself. I told him"the District of Kitimat has closed that stretch of sidewalk to protect the public from the heavy equipment they've brought in to excavate and repair the crater-size, body-shaped hole left in the aftermath of your mother's collision with the 'psycho-cyclist!"

He looked at me with complete confidence in my explanation, knowing his dad would never joke about something as serious as this, and simply replied, "That's true!" He couldn't wait to get home and tell mom...everything.

Diane's not eating much these days. I, on the other hand, have been 'eating crow' quite regularly.

Philip's concern for his mother's well being, is, after 2 weeks now, finally tapering off. Initially he was very attentive, helping hoist her up off the couch with her right arm while she held her ribs tightly secured with her left. Each time she coughed (which someone with bruised or cracked ribs is encouraged to do to prevent congestion and possibly pneumonia) Philip would be quick to ask, "Are you okay mom?" And on more than one occasion he barged into our bedroom at 3 a.m.to assure himself that mom was okay before calling it a night. Diane, in a sleepy haze and a dry scratchy voice assured him everything was fine. He would leave satisfied and content...his world was intact...he was fast asleep within minutes.

Diane, on the other hand, was now wide awake...head exploding as her sugar was low from lack of food...and her ribs screaming as she twisted and blindly crawled, groaning, gasping and groping (no, not in my direction...darn!), but towards her night stand where that ever-present, yet currently elusive, bottle of Tylenol awaited ...just out of reach of her pleading fingers.

Now I'm up, tending to the bruised and broken, serenaded by the soft purring of a peacefully sleeping young man down the hall - totally oblivious of the chaos he has unleashed.

We wouldn't have it any other way.

Our world is intact too!