F ANYTHING CAN GO RIGHT,
IT OCCASIONALLY DOES
Journal of Healing – April 16, 2003
By Mary Koch

"What next?" It was my mantra during our domestic melt-down last week.

The washing machine developed a leak and stubbornly eluded repair. The kitchen sink was draining slowly, then more slowly, then really slooowwwly, until it stopped altogether.

And my husband's oximeter, a devise that measures the oxygen in John's blood, failed. No insurance for a new one.

I was contemplating these developments as we drove home following an afternoon of therapy and errands. I was thinking most of our problems had to do with the basic elements: air and water. Too much water. Earlier that day I'd listened to a news report about grievous health problems anticipated in Iraq because of too little water. The irony was not lost on me.

I continued to drive, and my thoughts turned to a friend who recently died. I think about her a lot, but some might suggest I was thinking of her at that moment because her spirit was with us. A small white car was pulling onto the highway directly into our path.

I was doing 60, the legal speed, and there was no way the little car could accelerate fast enough to pull ahead of me. I stood on the brakes, hit the horn, and moved as far as I could onto the shoulder. Any further and I would have crushed a couple of highway signs before flipping the van over the steep edge of the roadway.

In that eternity of time — measured by split seconds — when I realized a collision was inevitable, I was thinking that at least the van had slowed enough so that damage should be limited to the vehicles. With luck, no one would get hurt. I continued to brake, anticipating that awful thud of metal meeting metal.

Miraculously, the little white car gained just enough power to pull ahead of us. We missed colliding by mere inches.

* * *

NINE YEARS AGO when John's generous newspaper friends gave him the van, equipped with hydraulic lift for his wheelchair, I read an article about how wheelchair users are especially vulnerable inside moving vehicles. The force of a collision can propel the chair rocket-style right out of the vehicle.

We're religious about protecting John with a seat belt and four tie-downs as well as setting the brakes on the wheelchair. As the little white car disappeared down the highway, I turned to check on John. Instead of sitting behind me where he belonged, he was right next to me. The wheelchair brakes had failed as did three of the four tie-downs. Thanks to his seatbelt and one tie-down, he was stopped by the dashboard instead flying through the windshield.

I clicked on the emergency flashers and put the chair back in place, resetting the tie-downs as semi-trucks rumbled past, shaking the van. Ten minutes later we arrived safely in our driveway. As I unbuckled the tie-downs, I noticed John's urine bag, discreetly hidden under his pants leg, was full.

"Did that happen back there on the highway?" I asked. He grinned and emphatically shook his head "no."

The Beatles had it partly right. We get by with a lot of help from our friends — and family. Once again the washing machine is operational, the kitchen sink is draining and we're finding low-cost oximeters on the Internet. We've reconfigured the tie-downs in the van and added a second seat-belt/shoulder harness restraint.