First published in the Tri Town Transcript Sep 13, 201
By Esther C. Baird
Well it’s been awhile Regular Reader, I hope your summers were full of sand, sun and drinks with little umbrellas in them.
Our late June and early July were packed full of the standard Casa Baird road-trips, lake visits and s’mores. We also planned a romantic, kids-fee weekend to Bar Harbor in late July while both of our girls were at overnight camp. We’d hike in Acadia by day, and spend evenings eating lobster at waterfront dives.
And it almost happened.
But as we began the final 30 minutes of our trip there, my phone rang. The number was from Jackman, Maine. Huh, our eldest daughter was at an outdoor adventure camp just outside of… Jackman, Maine.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hello Mrs. Baird, this is the camp nurse. First off, your daughter is fine.”
I sighed, and gave my husband the “onward to our vacation” hand motion. Lobster was still in my future! Our daughter probably had a cold and they needed permission to give her Advil despite the 75 forms I had filled out saying that of course they could.
“However,” the nurse continued, “she’s had an accident and is on her way to the closest emergency room, which is in Skowhegan.”
Skow-who???
I turned to my husband and gave him the “TURN THIS SHIP AROUND” hand signal.
“Accident?” I managed to ask in faked calm voice.
“Yes, she fell of a mountain bike and broke her left clavicle, or at least that’s what our wilderness first responder believes.”
First responder? Broken clavicle?? Skow-what!?
After a few minutes, we sorted out Skow-where we were going and, thankfully, we could meet her as she arrived at the ER.
Despite my initial skepticism, the Skowhegan Emergency room was wonderful. Our daughter was unable to move easily, plus she was covered in mud, and in a great deal of pain. But in under two hours she was X-rayed, stabilized, medicated and we were allowed to leave with follow-up instructions. The staff was polite and amazingly efficient, not to mention understanding with a certain strung out mother who may have been a little testy when her cell phone couldn’t get service in Skow-dead-zone.
As we gently navigated our daughter to the car, we realized she was only wearing her ripped muddy pants and my sweatshirt, zipped up over her be-slinged arm. They had cut her shirt off with scissors, and all her summer clothes were two hours away at the camp to which she could not reasonably return.
Once again, Skowhegan to the rescue, this time in the form of the Super Walmart.
“Ok, let’s get you a few things to wear,” I said in my best “everything’s going to be just great” voice.
Amazingly, she agreed. “Ok, and maybe I can get some cute pajamas! And food. I’m starving. You know how Super Walmarts have those fresh deli areas with subs and sandwiches?”
And there it was — she was down, but not out. If she could perk up over pajamas, and get excited about subs, her clavicle might be broken, but her spirit was not.
“Walmart’s finest food it is then!” my husband and I declared, no longer thinking about the lobster we were supposed to be eating, (not even for one small nanosecond).
Later that evening, back across the state of Maine, finally in Bar Harbor with our daughter in tow, we considered our situation. In sum, the entire month of August was cancelled.
A clavicle can’t be casted, so it’s beholden to the injured person not to move as it heals. Have you met many stationary teenagers during summer? Camps, sports and planned group events were done. She couldn’t swim, sail, rock climb, do archery or basketball. She couldn’t frankly dress herself.
But she persisted with her own silly style. Not 24 hours after her injury, she got the giggles eating Popovers at Jordan’s Pond in Acadia National Park.
Once home, we painted at Muse Bar in Lynnfield, ate lunches in sunny places, toured the Kennedy Library, and I learned how to put her hair up into a messy bun the way she liked… sort of, ok, not really.
Fall sport are off the table, but she’s been cleared to hold her guitar, and now that school has started, it turns out Latin is annoying no matter what bone you’ve broken.
It wasn’t the summer we’d planned, but it allowed us to see the determined and generally joyful side of our daughter in a fresh light. Plus, you only need one arm to eat a lobster roll.