A Fractured Christmas
WE ALL KNOW THAT
we should live for today,
because we don’t know
what will happen tomorrow. The
concept that we must only think
about today is based upon the reality
that tomorrow may never come. However,
we seldom pay attention to that idea until
something actually happens to remind us
of how valid those thoughts are.
Late into the evening of December
13th, we were wrapping up our Sunday
and looking ahead to the coming week.
Notice I said, “looking ahead.” I probably
should have been “looking down,” as,
since I wasn’t, I tripped and fell. I knew
immediately that something awful had
happened. As my pain increased, I tried
with no success to get up. My wife Penny
said that I was as white as a sheet and
sweating profusely, so 911 was called.
Fortunately, they responded quickly and
were able to determine that I had probably
fractured my hip. As gentle as they were,
my pain persisted and stayed with me for
the entire ride to the Emergency Room,
despite the fact that the paramedics were
swift and efficient, doing everything
possible to relieve my distress.
limit my activities until I can get up
and around. I find myself relating to
the wounded veterans I have met,
as well as folks who have suffered
in one way or another, much more
severely than I. This inspired me
to pray for them, as others prayed for me.
As an optimist, I believe good eventually
comes out of everything. My wife and
I have grown even closer, something I
didn’t think was possible; and with the
continuous good wishes from my friends,
I have used this time to slow down and
do some reading and writing.
For me, this “fractured Christmas”
became one of the best holidays I have had
because my family was together. Although
I had my trials and tribulations to deal
with, being with those I love left me smiling
through it all.
C O M M E N T A R Y
By Dick Crippen
Dick Crippen
After an operation the next day, I began
a week-long stay in the hospital. Since
our son, who had not been stateside for
12 years, was bringing his family down
to join us all for the holidays, my goal
became to get home by Christmas. From
the hospital, they moved me into a rehab
clinic, giving me only five days to heal
before Christmas Eve. Although my
plan was unrealistic, I was determined
to succeed and enlisted my doctor and
family in my efforts.
Miraculously, I made it home on the
24th, where I started my month-long spell
in a wheelchair, earning the nickname of
“Mario” from my wife, as I learned how
to maneuver about. Penny, as always,
helped me to work from home, as she also
assumed her duties as a fantastic caretaker,
nurse, and all-around aid.
For me, this has been a test of my
patience, which is not my strongest suit.
Therefore, it has been difficult for me to
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MARCH/APRIL 2016 TAMPA BAY MAGAZINE 117