We call it a “working vacation” which I think, in retrospect, are two words that don’t belong in the same sentence. Hubby Craig and I embark on a whirly-windy ukulele tour that takes us from Modesto and Sacramento to San Jose where I re-discover, not for the first time, that I don’t really, REALLY, relax until the “gigs” are done. This leaves us a day and a half of “ahhhhh,” hunkered down in an oak-filled canyon somewhere near California’s only nuclear power plant.
So we are plenty exhausted when we roll into Culver City in our rented Hyundai Elantra. Before we get home I take a quick detour to our local post office to pick up the mail in my P.O. Box. I suppose I could have waited. And truth be told, I wish I had waited, but a prophet I am not…
I did a retirement home gig several months ago and they still haven’t paid me so I’m anxious to see if my money arrived. And pissed off. I hate chasing after checks–making the calls, sending the emails. Making more calls, sending more emails. I bring the subject up periodically on our working vacation. “Those bastards…” is usually how I start the conversation…
I send Craig into the post office as I wait in the idling car and a few seconds later he appears waving the check over his head. Elation turns to shock as he tumbles face down onto the sidewalk. I wait for him to get up. He always gets up.
He doesn’t get up.
I leap from the car and run to this sweet man, sprawled on the cement, unable to lift himself with his arms. A kind gentleman passing by helps me get my big 6’3” husband to his feet and back into the car. His right wrist is askew; his left arm is throbbing. My husband was a corpsman in the Navy. “It’s broken,” he moans.
We turn the car north and head to U.C.L.A. I have no idea where the emergency room is. U.C.L.A. is crazy big, like a little city. And it seems like they are always building some new building. I break my personal “don’t do it” decree and make a call on my cell phone while I’m driving. I punch in 911. It rings and rings but finally I am connected to a very nice fireman who gives me the address of the ER and adds that he has no idea where it is… All this as I am negotiating our rental car through some of the busiest intersections in the whole damned United States of America.
Right after I yell at a defenseless valet guy at the first wrong U.C.L.A. building I pull into, we find our way to the Emergency Room—during an afternoon lull. Before the rush hour bedlam begins. They take Craig in right away. I ask the admitting clerk if a lot of people come to the ER because they tripped on a sidewalk and she guffaws at her computer screen because, apparently, our crumbling pedestrian infrastructure in Los Angeles keeps the ER docs busy setting bones 24/7.
We are quickly escorted to a small examining room. The attending physician orders X-Rays and then we wait. And wait. What to do? Now here is where the story goes all baby-boomer weird. This is where we see, first-hand, how social media has reprogrammed our brain synapses.
I take Craig’s fricking picture with my cell phone camera. “Post it on Facebook,” he says. And I do, like that’s the most normal thing in the world. What have we come to? My husband, a musician, facing the prospect of a broken wrist, another broken arm, wants to “report” our travails to our FB friends as they are unfolding. And me, I go—hey good idea!
Let me back up a little…
We don’t have kids. Craig’s parents are gone as is my father. My mother has dementia. So we reach out to our tiny circle of friends and far-away family. We don’t like to ask for help. (I bet most of us don’t.) So Craig and I, we rely on each other. But people text and call back–with good wishes, offers to bring food, to drive us, to do whatever. It’s a revelation.
Then the circle widens. Facebook. We have lots of FB “friends” because we are active in the ukulele cyber world. But most of these people–I will never meet them. Ever. Then again, I HAVE met a few of them, on this trip even. And they are kind and warm and have stories that are engaging and interesting. And almost immediately there begins a cascade of responses to the picture we posted. They offer support and good thoughts, prayers. The comments help us feel a whole lot better as we sit in this dreary, cheerless room… They make us feel not so alone.
Years ago I worked in an emergency room and those three years on the graveyard shift changed my life. The stuff, the bad stuff we see on the local news, it played out in the bowels of this place. I got it. Into the marrow of my bones. We are all just hanging by a thread? Do we really know what’s going to happen in the next ten seconds? For sure? Our lives can change in the time it takes to breathe in.
It’s scary to think about. And in all honesty, when I hear about someone else’s troubles, I feel badly for them, terrible sometimes. AND I’m grateful that it didn’t happen to me. AND I’m also afraid that someday it will. I feel a little tug of OMG in my stomach. Maybe I’m super neurotic. Or just human. Well…both. My husband has traipsed across the uneven sidewalk in front of the post office thousands of times. Up to last Thursday afternoon his record of safe passage was spotless.
The lyric from Monty Python’s “Always Look On The Bright Side of Life” has been playing in my head as if the needle is stuck in an acetate groove.
You’ll see its all a show,
keep ’em laughin’ as you go.
Just remember that the last laugh is on you. Ha ha ha…
In the big picture, none of us are on stage for very long… Things get goofy and awful, boring and beautiful. And if we are lucky, there are circles upon circles of dear ones, of friends, to share the whole mess of it.
Medical Post Script: Craig’s broken left elbow is healing quickly. Unfortunately my right-handed sweetheart crushed his right wrist and spent two hours in surgery. We are so lucky to have U.C.L.A.’s best hand guys “on hand.” Craig gave them both a copy of his new ukulele CD at our initial consultation. A not-so-subtle reminder that this is the wrist of a musician… We hear later that they played the CD in the operating room during his surgery. Ukulele is everywhere these days…
Teri Fukushima
Hi Cali. Just read about your hubby’ s accident. I hope he is all healed and back to playing music again. Let me know if you are ever in San Diego. Would love to see you play the ukelele and sing for Veterans Home in ChulaVista. Miss seeing you. Have a wonderful holiday and really great new year. Teri
Cali Rose
Thank you Teri. Craig’s wrist is all bionic now and he is able to play the ukulele again. Thank goodness. It is so easy to fall on our faces. I hope my blogs are a wake-up call for all of us to “look down” at those sidewalks. Enjoy your new digs in San Diego!
BIONIC WRIST | The New Official Cali Rose Blog
[…] ← Previous […]
Cali Rose
From Anonymous:
Wow! So sorry to hear the news, but happy that Craig’s recovering. I broke my left elbow twice, so I know how that song goes.
Please let me know if I can help in any way. I know how important help from friends is…My wife had a severe skiing accident two years ago in which she broke her right leg. It was so bad that there was a thought that she would lose that leg. After three surgeries, however, she now has cables, screws, and other hardware in that leg, and walks fine, though with a special brace.
Anyway, during that recovery phase, various neighbors and friends helped us with doctor appointments while I worked, some brought food (although I did most of the cooking), and/or kept her company. This experience brought to light how important friends are. The bonds of community have grown stronger, and we never take our friends for granted. Like you,we have no children and the reality of us aging without familial help is now hounding us.
I’m currently reading a book about aging, family, and health called Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End by Dr. Atul Gawande that focuses this reality in a stark, yet sobering way. In it, he discusses the importance of family and community when health goes down due to old age or accident. I hope that Craig heals quickly and completely.
Cali Rose
From N.
Best wishes to you and Craig. I’ve seen you both several times as various ukulele events and although you don’t know me I feel as if I know you. Wishing him a quick recovery. I always look forward to reading what you write. You make a bad experience entertaining somehow. I’m 63 years old and tell people my glasses are rose colored. I too always look on the bright side of life. We might as well. Take care.
Cali Rose
From H.
As a lucky member of your (outer) circle of ukulele friends, I was interested in hearing the details of Craig’s sidewalk debacle. I was horrified to see that picture you posted from the emergency room, knowing how much playing his uke means to him. I’m so glad to hear that his surgery went well and his elbow is healing. I’m sending all the positive vibes I can muster his way!!
Seeing your comment this morning on my post about the sudden loss of {a dear ukulele friend} and then seeing your blog today just made me think how making music with the ukulele has enriched my life and colored it with a wonderful rainbow of friends that I would never have known — and also (like your comment about social media) how we stay connected even though we’re hundreds and often times even thousands of miles apart. Why even as I was exercising in the pool a little bit ago, your song Boogie Down came up on my waterproof .mp3 player!
I just wanted to say that I’m glad to have that virtual connection with you and to send good wishes to both Craig and you. I hope you didn’t have to spend all that check from the retirement home paying the emergency room!!!
Cali Rose
From B.
Amazing what trouble one misstep can get you into. When I lived in Paris back in the late 90s, I tripped over a cobblestone and fractured my kneecap. That took about 6 weeks to heal and really slowed me down – Paris is NOT a disabled-friendly city. I could manage the local bus, but forget the Metro and trains – steep steps everywhere. The one rather important upside was that it forced me to finally sit down and start writing my doctoral dissertation, which was the real reason I was in Paris…
Cali Rose
From K.
Great chapter for your upcoming book!
Almost brought me to tears… seriously.
Cali Rose
From C.
Wow, that was SOME post! You are a very insightful writer. Hope Craig is healing beautifully. Reminded me of the craziness that happened when I was hit by a car many, many years ago — and I was in a crosswalk! Listen, if they’re gonna getcha, they’re gonna getcha. My best wishes to you both.
Joe Persons
Cali,
Let us hope the check, like Craig, did not bounce! Tell my tall pal I hope he mends quicker than the doctors predict. It was really great to see you both this summer!
Love,
Joe
Cali Rose
Thanks Joe and it was such a treat to see you too. Thankfully bones mend and hopefully the check will go through. I’ve had checks from corporate behemoths bounce on me.
Debbie
A sobering reminder that our certainty and conviction that we have ‘control’ of our lives is an illusion. Thank goodness it was ‘just’ his hand. It could have been so much worse. And this awful thing happened where excellent medical care was readily available. I know I cannot do much to help from so far away, but my thoughts are with you both, with waves of positive energy directed your way 🙂
Bremda
Oh Cali Rose, I am so sorry. Hope he gets better very soon. Makes those checks seem very insignificant. Hope he is up and playing again very soon. Who knows maybe a song will come out of this…lol. Take care and take good care of him. Aloha, and thanks for all you do for us who enjoy all of your postings and music.
Cali Rose
Yeah the checks are puny at this point, but you know, every time I think of that damned retirement home, the whole scene will come tumbling back. No pun.
Barbara Wieland
Thanks so much Cali. On the one hand I’m so sorry for what happened. Sending lots of good thoughts and prayers to you and Craig. On the other hand your blog post really lifted my spirits. I was a classical pianist for 14 years and lost it in one moment, like you expressed the fragility of life. So true. But in time God opened other doors, or opened my eyes to other doors that had been open all along. Yes, it all feels less like tragedy now, and more like “life is like that”. Thank you a million billion times for sharing.
Cali Rose
I’m so glad the currents of life moved you in a new direction that is satisfying and joyful. Indeed “life is like that” if we are lucky. Thanks for your kind words.
Diane Mugg
I have taken workshop classes from both you and Craig. How sweet of you to share. Keep that great smile and attitude. Happy healing Craig.
Cali Rose
Thank you Diane. We soldier on. All of us…