In a world where we now so often feel overwhelmed by bad news, we focus on the good in life, even during tough times.
Healing Time
It’s 4:45 pm, Monday, February 23, in Maui, Hawaii, and my husband, Scott, and I just got back from a snorkeling trip where we swam with a sea turtle and saw a mama and baby whale playing in the bay. On the way back to the harbor, about 30 silver flying fish flew by, and a rainbow appeared. Life felt pretty perfect on the island. I’m out of my wet bathing suit now and into dry shorts and a t-shirt, the damp towels are drying on the balcony chairs, and I’m still glowing from the warm sun on my face at the wonder of it all.
It was a short 17 days ago that Scott fell into a hole. He was digging a narrow hole in our front yard, where we are building an art studio, trying to locate a water line, when he spotted a red plastic object that he thought might be part of it. He leaned down for a closer look and accidentally slid headfirst into the hole. The hole wasn’t much wider than his arms, which were trapped with one hand under his head, and only his legs from the knees sticking out. He hollered for help, hoping one of our neighbors would hear him, since he knew I was having coffee with a friend and wouldn’t be home for a while. Two hours later, after coffee and a few errands, I drove up and saw something so strange, so unusual, so surreal that I didn’t understand at first what I was seeing. Were those feet sticking straight up out of the ground? Was that my husband?
I parked haphazardly and ran over to Scott, who gruffly cried out, “Get me out of here!” I told him I would. I pulled on his pant leg, knew there was no way I could get him out by myself, looked around for help, saw no one, and called 911. The dispatcher was cool and efficient, keeping me on the line while she notified what seemed like every first responder in Estes Park. Within 10 minutes, firefighters, EMTs, police, and a sheriff were swarming our front yard and the hole. They came one by one and two by two, then a bunch all at once. There was one ambulance pulled up near the hole. An EMT supervisor car and a fire department vehicle were in the driveway. A police car was pulled up on the lawn, a sheriff’s deputy’s car was on Pole Hill, and two full-size red fire engines were on the road right in front of our house. The firefighters gathered at the hole, reassuring Scott while coordinating among themselves on how to get him out. Meanwhile, I slipped into the house to soothe the barking pups, Brewster and Ziggy, who had heard their pop crying out for help and, helplessly, couldn’t rescue him since they were trapped inside.
When I walked back out, the strong firefighters had pulled Scott out, and he was lying on the ground next to the hole. I knelt down next to him, where he was blinking in the bright sunlight, and told him he was going to be okay now because there were all these wonderful folks there to help him. The highly proficient EMTs asked him many questions and soon moved him into the ambulance, where they rushed him to the hospital emergency department. After letting the dogs out briefly, I fed them (which takes seconds). When I came in, Nurse Ben had him on what looked like a flexible rubber raft attached to a hose, pumping hot air into it. They also had a warm saline drip attached to his arm. Even with all this, Scott, whose temperature had dropped to 91 degrees, could not stop violently shivering. Finally, his temperature was back up to normal, and I got the word that I would be able to bring him home. But first, I would need to go home and get him a new shirt since they had to cut his off. After grabbing a warm sweatshirt, clean shoes, and pants, I let Brewster and Ziggy accompany me back to the hospital. When they saw Scott, they went crazy, trying to jump into the front seat to lick his face.
Why am I telling you this story about my husband falling into a hole? Because people keep telling me how great I am for my dementia work. I do not deny that I have worked really hard over the last 15 months to create the Estes Dementia Day Center (opening at Saint Bartholomew’s, April 1st!!), along with the other hard workers, Pete, Jane, Madison, Carl, and Stephen. But that’s Estes Park. We come together. Just like the firefighters, EMTs, and law enforcement guys, we do what needs to be done. In the Estes Park area, we have over 100 nonprofits, as well as clubs, organizations, and individuals that give to our community to make it a better place. I consider myself especially fortunate today that Scott and I can count on our community to be there when we need them. Who will pull us out of the holes we might fall into, whatever kind they might be.
And here’s the caveat: I also know that when we give a lot, we need to take care of ourselves so we don’t burn out. I was close to burning out. Hence, Maui. The sun, the ocean, the loving people here are helping me get back my energy and passion so I can keep on keeping on. And Scott? He’s healing, too. You’d have to look really hard to see any evidence of the scrapes and gashes on his head and body that were there just a short couple of weeks ago. We’ll be home in a couple of days, healed and refreshed and ready to get back to work. Can’t wait to see you all, Aloha and Mahalo.
Mary facilitates the Estes Park Caregivers’ Support Group for People with Dementia and is working with a team to create the Estes Dementia Day Center opening April 1, 2026 at Saint Batholomew’s Episcopalian Church.
