A Glimpse into the Abyss

In our many years of globetrotting, we’ve been fortunate to have escaped physical injury. Until last week on a ship in the Caribbean. Ted fell.

Oh, he’s fine. There’s no need for alarm. What could have been a serious bone break or muscle tear is only a bruised knee, which, happily, is improving every day.

Still, the incident was traumatic.

And could have been much, much worse.

Here’s what happened:

On Monday, February 17, during a two-week cruise to various islands in the Caribbean, including Aruba, Bonaire, and Curacao, Ted and I were taking our brisk daily walk around the upper deck of the enormous ship.

Other vessels in the Celebrity cruise line on which we have sailed to Antarctica and Panama have had plenty of empty space for walking and jogging on their top decks. Not much else goes on up there during the day, we have found. But because many of the 3,000 passengers on the Caribbean trip were snowbirds intent on basking in the tropical sun every waking moment, lounge chairs occupied nearly every available space on the upper deck.

Nothing wrong with that.

A lot of these folks were escaping particularly harsh winters back home. We didn’t begrudge them their time in the sun. The problem was that a good bit of maneuvering was required of those of us who preferred to walk or jog in the mornings. A pinkish-red rubberized track clearly delineated strolling space around half of the mushroom-colored deck, but if one wanted to walk the full length of the ship, the path was a little more treacherous.

Early in our walk on this particular day, Ted bumped his ankle against a chair that protruded a few inches onto the rubberized track. The chair’s occupant quickly apologized and scooched out of harm’s way. But a little farther on, as we regained our usual charge-ahead pace and moved off the rubberized track to what looked like a safe path through the loungers, Ted wasn’t so lucky. The toe of his right foot caught the inner crook of a chair leg.

I would say “down he went,” but it didn’t happen that quickly … or at least it didn’t seem to.

This was no gentle tumble.

Instead, both feet off the ground, Ted was briefly, spectacularly airborne while I watched, helpless, at his side. Then the descent began, my eyes following his downward arc until he landed with an awful thud on his right knee and elbow. And there he was, sprawled facedown on the boards like a crumpled swastika. The sight took my breath away and made my stomach lurch.

Passengers in surrounding lounge chairs sprang to their feet. A food-and-beverage server nearby rushed to join us, too. To my relief, I saw that Ted was mobile, pulling himself up to his hands and knees. We all gathered around him and helped him to his feet.

“At least there’s no blood,” one passenger said.

“At least I have my phone,” Ted answered, proudly holding the device overhead.

At least he still has his sense of humor, I thought. The iPhone so easily could have skidded under the railing and dropped 100 feet into the sea.

And just as easily, I reminded myself, Ted could have broken his knee or his neck because of that damn lounge chair. I said a silent prayer of thanks.

“You okay?” I asked him.

“I think so,” he said. But as I supported him under one arm, I could tell he was in pain, reluctant to put his weight on the knee that had taken the blow.

“You were lucky you landed in a clear space,” someone else said. “Instead of another chair.”

“Or another sunbather,” Ted answered. Everyone laughed but me.

Passengers and ship staff were a terrific help.

We walked gingerly with Ted to a table and chairs in one of the deck’s central alcoves where, with a grimace, he sat. From an adjacent bar, I got ice for the knee while we waited for a nurse to arrive. Then the standard protocol began. The nurse asked questions, eased Ted into a wheelchair, took us on the elevator 13 floors below to the ship’s infirmary. She made X-rays, declared no bones broken.

With utmost gratitude, I wheeled Ted upstairs to lunch. For the rest of the day, I made ice packs, administered naproxen sodium, rubbed Ted’s shoulders, tried to keep the what-ifs at bay.

Chris and Laraine, our nephew and niece-in-law from Charlotte, North Carolina, provided moral support, as did a lovely couple from Montreal whom we met at dinner the first night of the cruise. Here is a shot of Shelley and Fab on a shopping trip during our Bonaire stop. (I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, “God bless the Canadians!”)

It all worked. The next day, lo and behold, Ted graduated to using a cane, kindly provided by the ship’s crew.

That same day, despite my protest, he said he still wanted to take part in the snorkeling excursion booked weeks earlier by Laraine and Chris. (Thank God it wasn’t a walking tour.) So the four of us went. The day progressed without incident. In fact, we had a fabulous time.

Ted snorkeled with me (in the photo at the top of this blog) and with Chris, below …

… while the excursion’s photographer took wonderful photos from the bottom of the deep cove around us, like the sun-drenched portrait below of Chris and Laraine. The photographer used a Canon PowerShot G7. We were all impressed.

I took this one of Ted post-snorkel with my trusty Android phone.

Proceed with caution, but don’t leave out the gusto.

As I mentioned earlier, this was our first-ever injury on one of our travels. And the first time for either Ted or me to be in a wheelchair, if you don’t count the exits from the various hospitals where we’ve had surgery over the years. Even after Ted’s hip replacement 10 years ago, he didn’t need a wheelchair to get around.

So yes, the incident gave us both a glance into our possible futures … or at least shouted a warning to be more careful in our older age. At 71 and 72 respectively, Ted and I both know the mishaps will be more likely as we move toward old age, but we’re not ready for it to hold us back. (In less than a week from the day I write this, in fact, we’re heading to Spain for an extended stay.)

For me, the incident also raised the old bugaboo questions, all the more unsettling when they come amid the bliss of a sail in the Caribbean: What would I do without Ted? Could I go on, or more to the point, would I want to?

Of course, the answer is that I don’t know the answer. All I know is to appreciate the time we have together as we approach our 50th anniversary in 2027. And to be reminded yet again how much I love this man. His strength and commitment to our relationship are unfaltering, no matter what life throws at us.

Armed with that knowledge, I know the future, as has been wisely stated, will take care of itself.

(The photo above is of Ted at Eagle Beach in Aruba a few days after the fall. Note the tip of the cane at bottom center. We gladly returned it to the ship’s crew when we disembarked on Sunday, February 23 … six days after the mishap.)