It’s that time of year: Let’s talk about high school reunions.
Actually, let’s not, and here’s why: I was recently in New Mexico with my daughter, Lily, visiting my other daughter, Daisy, who’s been living there since earlier this year. We settled on Silver City, a couple hundred miles south of Albuquerque, for its location and all-around grooviness. I did not choose Silver City as a great place to break my elbow, but that’s what happened.
Silver City is where both real and wannabe hippies live out their days. The town’s social hub is Tranquil Buzz, a coffee shop so named as it dispenses both caffeine and cannabis. The rest of its commerce is pretty much dedicated to pottery shops, handmade-jewelry stores and places to eat. (If you want anything practical, say, an ice pack, or to have a prescription filled, you’ll have to leave the city limits.)
We were staying in the center of it all, the Murray Hotel, an art deco gem built in 1938 that doesn’t appear to have had a visit from OSHA during that tenure.
As we were leaving the hotel the morning after our arrival, the sunken lobby sank without warning.
It’s a wild sensation to go from walking on flooring to all support disappearing, à la Peter Pan—I’m flying!— to THUD landing on WPA-poured concrete. They say when you break a bone, you know it, and I knew it.
Instead of enjoying breakfast with my daughters, I was having the first ambulance ride of my life and howling in pain. The EMT asked, “Morphine or fentanyl?” in a friendly tone reminiscent of flight attendants inquiring “Chicken or fish?”
All I’d wanted minutes earlier were a cup of coffee and a scone.
The entire day can be summed up by the wise lyricists, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards: You can’t always get what you want. I’m optimistic enough to believe that in the scheme of things little was lost: The ambulance arrived lickety split; the Gila Regional Medical Center is a mere two miles from the Murray Hotel; even sort of out in the sticks, the emergency room was staffed with qualified, competent people; I’m not Brittney Griner; I’m not in Ukraine; the list continues. I didn’t lose a tooth or an eye.
The girls and I (and a temporary cast) spent four days together and we had a great time. I’m hoping that Mick and Keith’s words come through and I’ll be rewarded with what I need, whatever that may be.
As I write this I’m back in Minneapolis a few days post-op. Three screws and a metal plate hold my arm together. Positively bionic, especially encased in the swanky immobilizer Twin Cities Orthopedics provides.
Maybe next month we can tackle high school reunions. Or not. One never knows.
– Dorothy
