The Three A.M. Phone Call

It happened Sunday morning, August 7. The caller was Josh, Molly’s boyfriend. There’d been a fall. A fall? Not a wreck? Just a fall. How bad could a fall be? Did she fall out of a chair? Did she slip on a wet floor?


“She fell ten feet – into a cement ravine.”


“What? How?”


“She was coming back from her apartment pool and somehow she fell into this ravine.”


“I’m coming. I’m on my way.”


I hung up and thought: On my way to where? I called back with the questions I should have asked before.


“Is she conscious? Is she able to move her arms and legs? Where is she now?”


Two “yeses” and “the ambulance” later, I decided to stay put until I knew more, since I live one hundred miles away. I even laid myself back down in my bed, head to pillow, eyes wide open. Optimist that I am, I thought they would patch her up at the emergency room and send her home.


Not long after, the phone rang again.


“They’re sending her to Macon or Atlanta. In another ambulance. She has a skull fracture." Josh was shaky, his voice belying the litany of information.


Oh dear God, a skull fracture. Sending her to a larger hospital. On my way to put on my clothes and brush my teeth, I stopped by Google. “For most skull fractures, the person is sent home with instructions to watch for certain things." She was supposed to be sent home, not to another hospital!


Josh called again to tell me she was en route to Macon. Better for Molly, farther for me. I was in my car, on my way.

I didn't cry.  I was resolute, cursing the darkness and my old eyes, a prayer in the middle of my heart.  I made it to the hospital in a little over an hour and found my baby within minutes.


The tears arrived when I heard Molly's voice through the door and I thanked God and Jesus and my lucky stars and her strong constitution.


Ten days, an ICU stay, and a tough recovery later, Molly is at home and mending.  Aside from her skull fracture, she had a concussion, and a brain bleed.

Now an urban legend in her small home town, Molly is left with an inability to smell, which the doctors say may remain.


I'm left with a brimming over of gratitude.