by Nancy Endress

In the spring of 1963, after a day of teaching six-year-olds, picking up the kids from the sitter, preparing a meal, interacting with kids and husband, getting the kids bedded down, and putting my feet up for a few minutes, I was ready for bed by 9:30 or 10:00 p.m. on weekdays. This meant that I generally got out of bed the next morning by 5:00 a.m., a good two hours before the rest of my family, in order to catch up on things that I had neglected the previous day. After throwing on a robe, I would wash the dishes left from the evening meal. One morning, I wedged my hand too far inside a drinking glass, broke off a good-sized chunk of the glass and cut my hand. When I pulled my hand out of the dishwater, I found a loose flap of skin that was bleeding copiously. Wrapping a clean dish towel around it, I walked into the bedroom to alert tom to the situation. He was sound asleep and it took quite a while for him to comprehend that my hand needed immediate attention. I bypassed his original suggestion to let him go back to sleep and wait until the doctor’s office opened in four hours.

We lived just six blocks away from a hospital, and Kurt (age 3) and Kathy (age 1) were still asleep. After a semi-coherent discussion on Tom’s part as to whether or not to take them along with us to the hospital, we decided to let them sleep--Kurt in his twin bed and Kathy in her crib. We woke Kurt up somewhat and told him that we were going to leave for a while, but that we should be back soon. We hurriedly threw on some clothes, locked the house, and jumped into the car, leaving the two kids home alone, as we had no neighbors that we could call at 5:15 a.m. I still can’t believe that we left them by themselves! At the ER, we checked in and then began the waiting process. So far as we could tell, I was the single patient waiting for attention, and we were registered quickly. After at least twenty minutes, we became concerned that the nursing staff (whom we could hear laughing and chatting loudly in another room) had totally forgotten about us. We fretted about Kurt possibly waking up while we were gone, but we stuck it out. I waited almost an hour (with no apology for the delay) before receiving seven stitches and an admonishment to find a way of washing glasses without putting my hand inside. And...both kids were sleeping soundly when we returned home.

Twenty years passed without a visit to an ER. I don’t count the time in 1974 when our dog Snowball ripped my finger when I tried to remove him from Kathy’s bedroom. Tom decided that he was vicious and wanted to have him put down immediately, but given that the dog was just being protective, the kids and I overruled him, and Snowball lived on until 1980. I trained our next dog to trot along beside me while I rode my bicycle over to a neighborhood park. It was in late February of 1983, at 5:00 p.m. when Blackie and I left the house for his evening walk. We reached the park without incident, but when I stopped at the entrance and bent down to release the catch on his leash, Blackie was impatient to follow a hot scent and friskier than usual. I lost my balance, and the bike and I fell over. As soon as I got out from under the bike, I realized that my right shoulder was extremely painful, rendering my arm basically useless. Pulling on the leash with my left hand, I walked a short distance to the door of the closest house and asked a fellow soccer-mom for help. She brought both of us into her house, called 911 and offered to call Tom who was at the office. The ambulance arrived shortly, and the paramedics told me that I had probably dislocated my shoulder. I have to admit it hurt like hell! They informed me that they would take me to the Bowie Health Center, and Mrs. Showalter offered to call my husband. He did not pick up the phone while seeing patients, so she left a message, asking him to meet me at the health center. While I was being transported by ambulance, she put Blackie in her car, drove six blocks over to my house, and using the key I had given her, put the dog in the house, picked up my purse (with insurance information in it) and delivered it to me at the Center. After an x-ray,

my shoulder was popped back into place, which brought instant relief. However, the x-ray showed a chip fracture of the fibula, so I ended up with a soft cast from the wrist to just above the elbow and a sling for the arm. After finishing up with his patients, Tom picked me up from the hospital and urged that I cease and desist from walking the dog while riding my bike. I spent four weeks with my arm in a sling, giving me a hiatus from my job as a transcriptionist. After languishing around the house for a week or more, I went back to "light duty" at the office and spent most of my time filing x-ray cards and patient charts.

The next ER visit occurred twelve years later in 1995 at Metro fringe parking lot on Northview Drive. This lot suffered constant vandalism to its three shelters and occasional damage to vehicles parked there during the day. The metal frame shelters were enclosed on four sides by plexiglas, with two entrances at the front of the shelter. The glass was often missing; vandals would smash it within days of replacement, and the parking lot management had become lax in making prompt repairs.

On a sunny day early in May, I was waiting inside the shelter for the 7:45 bus, engaged in conversation with a fellow passenger about his recent visit to Israel. The Plexiglas panel in the front of the shelter had been missing for several weeks, but the frame remained in place. When the buss pulled up, Sy walked through the exit directly in front of him, and still talking, I stepped forward--right into the open metal frame, about ten inches above the cement. I realized that I was falling over the frame and put out my hands to catch myself--to no avail. I ended up sprawled face down on the cement, with my nose and right hand taking the brunt of the fall. Sy graciously helped me up from the ungainly position, gathered up my briefcase and bag, and gave me his handkerchief, since my nose was bleeding. My right hand was scraped, and the lens on the right side of my glasses had popped out and was quite scratched. Sy insisted on taking me to the Bowie Health Center and promptly bundled me into his car. The Center was just getting ready to open, and there were no doctors yet available. Sy was quite solicitous and waited until I was helped onto a gurney; he also offered to phone my husband. Unfortunately, Tom was en route to one of the five schools in Calvert County that he serviced, and I had no way of reaching him. I convinced Sy that he should go on to work, since I would have no problem reaching my son in Greenbelt before he left the house, and he could provide a ride home for me.

After reading the x-rays of my nose and hand, the doctor announced that I had broken my nose but that my hand was just a little bruised, but not otherwise injured. After having my nose packed and taped, a small gash inside my lip sutured, and the scrapes on my face and hands cleaned up, Kurt drove me home. Upon calling the Board Of Education, they were able to locate Tom who soon arrived home to take over from Kurt. My face was a total mess--a taped nose, two black eyes, a puffy lip, assorted scrapes and discolorations. When I returned to work a few days later, rumors were soon flying through the building to the effect that "Nancy Endress has an abusive husband!" The upshot of my accident was that once we had the knowledge that the county (not Metro) was responsible for maintaining Metro commuter parking lot, several changes soon went into effect. Hazard tape appeared on all vandalized shelters in the county within 48 hours, the missing plexiglas at the fringe lot was replaced in five days, and withing six weeks a video monitoring system was inconspicuously mounted on a tall pole. The county--in all likelihood trying to avoid a lawsuit--sent me a check in the amount of $3497.13. This covered all medical expenses (doctor visits and surgery), per diem payment for the seven days of sick leave that I used while off work, and $75 to cover the fee incurred for canceling a pair of airline tickets to attend my nephew’s wedding the day after I had surgery to reset my nose.

My last visit (to date) occurred in 1998, on the day after Christmas. I decided to treat our two cats to a can of cat tune in addition to their usual supply of dry Kibble, but I lost a tug of war with the "pull off" lid, and it inflicted a nasty slash on the end of a fingertip. I wrapped it up, convinced Tom that it probably needed stitches, and we got our coats on and drove to the Health Center. After receiving seven neatly sewn teeny-weeny stitches, we were back home again within an hour. Easy in, easy out.