Another shoe hits the ground

No sooner do we get one part of L’s family on its feet than another one’s laid up.  L’s mother was supposed to come visit this weekend to (1) get out of the Maryland snow and (2) be here for L’s birthday (on Sunday) and our anniversary (ditto), but she called today and said she couldn’t come; L’s sister’s husband had a bad wreck last Thursday, which put him into Greater Baltimore Medical Center with a broken back.  It’s only cracked vertebrae and no spinal damage, as far as anyone can tell, but the doctors can’t agree on what to do about him.  One neurosurgeon wants to operate, and another says no, he only needs physiotherapy, not an operation.  In part they’re arguing because Matt’s broken back was due to a congenital spinal condition that hadn’t declared itself so no one, including Matt, knew he had it.  Hence the argument.

It was an ugly accident as Linda described it.  Matt was driving north on Charles Street by Sheppard Pratt psychiatric hospital, and someone pulled out from behind the entrance guardhouse without stopping, clipped him as he swerved to avoid, and shoved his truck across the median into the southbound lane, where another car hit him head-on.  For a mercy, Matt was wearing a seat belt because his youngest has been ragging on him recently to wear it all the time.  He wasn’t cut up, and broke no bones save the cracked spine.  Had he been without a belt, I expect he’d be dead.

Of course L’s sister Nat is almost at wit’s end trying to cope with running to and from the hospital, working as many hours as she can (she’s still an hourly employee for schedule flexibility), and taking care of their three kids (15, 10, and 9), with some help from Linda and from Matt’s family.  (At least she has that option open to her.)  Linda said she didn’t feel at all happy with the notion of going out of town right now, and of course I agreed.  It’s a pity, because we’d been planning a small dinner party on Saturday to celebrate, and now that’s off, so I have no idea WHAT we’ll do for the weekend.  Maybe nothing, no better than this is getting on.

He would invite the plastic re-enactors to anticipate Trimalchio’s dinner.  Fnord.