Bumps in the Road

Last week, our family learned that, sometimes, life is just plain hard. There wasn’t a mistake we could learn from or something to avoid in the future; it was just a bump in the road.

On Monday morning, my older son was walking to school and fell on the ice. The ER found that he had a broken hip with the break right at the growth plate. He and my husband flew to Denver on the Classic Air plane with another transfer from Centennial to Children’s Hospital. I drove down on Monday and met them in the hospital room. He was in considerable pain, and he had a very long, difficult night. The next day, he had his first surgery to pin the bones to maintain the blood flow. 

Through this time, we discovered he had experienced an “acute on chronic” break…his hip had been bothering him for months – the growth plate was unstable and it felt like a mild broken bone. The fall on the ice was the force that broke that “ice cream off the cone,” as they said. It is called a SCFE pronounced “skiffy.” (PSA: if you know a 9–14-year-old with chronic hip pain, look into this!)

His second surgery was Thursday, and this was extensive with a 6″ incision, five screws, and lots of attention to that blood flow to the head of the femur. Luckily, that procedure was a complete success and he has a great prognosis. The surgeon was one of a handful of doctors in the country who are trained in this procedure.

The week at Children’s Hospital was one of the most challenging times of our lives as parents. My husband had to leave mid-week to care for our younger son. There were two things that kept me upright throughout this experience: art and the love from our friends and family.

Children’s Hospital is a very special place. Everywhere you look, there is art: galleries of original paintings down the halls; sandblasted glass around the elevator shaft that looks like tall aspen trees; and intricate mosaics on the atrium floor. However, there was something very profound that happened on our last day that showed me the true power of art.

If any of you have been admitted to a hospital, you may be aware of the patience-testing process of being discharged. We both felt anxious to get home. Knowing I had a four-hour drive over two mountain passes, I was especially mindful of the time.

Less than 24 hours after extensive surgery, Physical Therapy came to clear us for discharge in the morning. My son was able to crutch across the room. However, at the base of the stairs, he got dizzy. Our P.T. put him back in his chair and told him he could try later in the day.

We returned to our room in despair. My son felt like he had failed and yet was truly in significant pain. I sat in uncertainty, wondering if we would make it home before the winter storm hit the pass.

The interior of our room

I sat at the edge of this emotional abyss and remembered that I had my iPad. I opened the Procreate App. Using only my finger, I created a painting of our hospital room. Instead of focusing on the anxiety of the day, I concentrated on the colors of the walls, how the floor reflected the bed, and the shifting values of all the dials and monitors.

When that piece was done and we still didn’t have answers, I turned to the view out our window. Instead of ruminating about the looming snow on Rabbit Ears Pass, I formulated the color and values of the distant mountains. Instead of fueling the fire of desperation to get out of that room, I studied the facets and shifting colors of the Fitzsimons Building on the Anschutz Medical Campus.

The Fitzsimons Building, built in 1918, was a pleasure to study. They don’t build them like they used to!

Suddenly, having lost track of time, P.T. was back to try again. This time, my son passed with flying colors and we packed up to put this bump in the rear-view mirror.

Click the link below to play the video of my son playing “Folsom Prison Blues”… I guess he was feeling the need for a jailbreak too

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Leaving Denver at 5 m on a Friday, the drive home was harrowing. I needed all of my strength and centering to navigate the traffic. By the time we reached the pass, I was using the reflectors on the side of the road to guide me home through the white-out. I can’t help but think that those meditative hours I spent on the iPad helped me stay calm and focused during this journey.

Truly, once again, art saved my life…and brought my son safely home.