Jayne's Saturday Adventure

Okay, I admit that it was my idea to change the batteries in the smoke detectors. We were actually a little late this year because we try to follow the rule about putting in new batteries when the clocks are set back to standard time. We are very good about this rule because my husband, Frank, is an engineer. For this reason, too, our condo is endowed with five smoke detectors. Safety can never be over-engineered in Frank's opinion.

The first smoke detector went smoothly. The second did not go so well. I was just around the corner in my office when I heard the dreadful yelp and the kind of crashing thud that makes your blood run cold. I am suddenly chanting the terrible if only mantra. If only I hadn't suggested we change the batteries today. If only I had been closer to the ladder. If only...

Frank is on the floor, alert, thank heavens, but afraid to move because of the severe pain in his back. A moment later I am on the phone dialing 911. A short time after that a bunch of very large, very nice firemen tromp through our front door. The initial verdict is that Frank probably cracked a rib.

We get a stern lecture on the poor design of the ladder that Frank had used. Evidently it is much too narrow at the base. This is somewhat embarrassing because Frank had recently ordered it out of a catalog while traveling at 38,000 feet on the way home from Hawaii. He was very proud of that ladder. It is new, exceptionally handsome and quite sturdy looking. But now, as we all look at it with new eyes, we can see just how narrow it is at the base and, therefore, inherently unstable. Why didn't we notice that small flaw earlier?

The next thing I know Frank is in an ambulance, headed for the hospital. I follow on foot. (Yes, on foot. The hospital is within walking distance here in Seattle)

This is where things really went south. The ER doctor at the nice, calm hospital pokes Frank a few times and then announces that there is a possibility that something MUCH MORE SERIOUS is going on. A moment later we are being shipped off to another hospital a few blocks away, the one with the state's only major trauma care center. I get to ride in the back of the ambulance this time. Whoohoo.

If any of you have ever had occasion to pass a lazy Saturday afternoon and night in a trauma care center you will already know that this is another world. It is a world where everything runs on adrenaline and the staff appears to exist on a steady diet of coffee and potato chips. There are almost as many security people and police around as there are members of the medical staff. The clientele is eclectic. Some are wearing jumpsuits, handcuffs and ankle chains.

Nobody seems to notice me so I stay with Frank. We share a four-bed trauma room with three other people who, if they survive the night, will have every reason to be sincerely grateful to the amazing team that is treating them. There is a lot of screaming and yelling; a lot of pain and some blood. But there is also amazing competence and expertise.

I observe and quickly learn the rules of this strange world. Rule Number One is that if they push your gurney out into the hallway, you are probably going to be okay. After a considerable length of time and a lot of tests, Frank is pushed out into the hallway to free up space for someone who is definitely not okay. I am greatly relieved. True, the person behind us is in ankle chains and the one in front looks like he's been living on the streets since 'Nam and has a really bad cough, but everybody is quiet and polite out in the hallway. It is a bit crowded, however. I spend the next few hours trying to avoid getting run down by passing gurneys and fast-moving staff. Now that I know that Frank is all right I take mental notes about the human drama going on around us. What can I say? I'm a writer. I can't help myself.

Eventually the various tests and X-rays come back and someone finally gets a chance to go over them. We are told that Frank will be fine although he's going to have a painful back for a few weeks. Frank is given some heavy-duty painkillers. The nurse tells me to make sure Frank swallows them before we leave. She chuckles, pats my arms and tells me she trusts me not to try to sell the meds to some of the interesting folks I will find hanging around the entrance to the emergency room. Ha ha.

On the way out we pass a man on a gurney who assures us he doesn't shoot women. Who says chivalry is dead?

I go outside to mingle with the happy crowd out there in front of the ER. It is very late and I am worried about finding a cab. But the folks out there at the ER entrance prove to be a very helpful bunch who share the holiday spirit. They assist me in flagging down a cab. I get Frank into the cab and wish everyone back at the ER entrance Happy Holidays. They go back to hanging around. I do not inquire as to why they spend their evenings in front of the ER.

We return home. I pour myself a large glass of wine. Frank enjoys his pain pills. We give thanks that we live in a city with such a first class fire department and trauma care center. We vow that we will buy a new ladder. Frank makes a note to go online and order a box of holiday goodies to be sent to our local fire station.

And the batteries in those four remaining smoke detectors? Two of the firemen who responded to my 911 call changed them all for us while Frank was being loaded into the ambulance.

They used the same damn ladder.