Perhaps I missed my readers more than they missed me. But I can tell you this: I take my responsibility of cranking out a Weekly column very seriously, so yes, the Beat will go on. I do it to honor our martyrs, coupled with my desire to inform and entertain faithful subscribers of this newspaper, which has been important to the Armenian community for so many years.
It took a terrible fall to render me unable me to write my column. My trip in an emergency vehicle to Henry Ford Fairlane Hospital and X-rays revealed a seriously sprained left ankle. And, as it was said in an old John Wayne movie, “You can’t walk with one leg.”
Sat., Sept. 15, was going to be an afternoon full of events for my husband and I. We departed one social obligation in Dearborn some 20 miles from our home and were headed to another at St. Sarkis Church, also in Dearborn. It was called a “Family Party,” with dinner and games for the kids. Fate determined there would be no party for me.
As usual Bob dropped me off in front of the church while he left to park the vehicle, a big red Chevy pickup. I entered through the door that leads to the church hall. I could hear the happy voices that had already filled the hall. I held the wooden railing firmly with my left hand and in the other was my cane.
But, before I knew it I soon found myself face down on the floor, having falling from the top of the several steps, tangled in my own legs. Embarrassed? Yes. My immediate thought was to right myself, but found I could not stand up. I was in severe pain and the left foot began to swell noticeably.
A crowd began to gather, offering aid as my husband entered to discover my predicament. He appeared to be in shock at the sight of me on the floor. Soon Greg Vartanian and Mike Rizzizo picked me up, setting me on a chair. Bob agreed with Greg’s suggestion that a trip in an EMS unit should be taken to determine the extent of the injury. I was overcome with pain.
My tears began to flow while Rose Mouradian tried to keep my nerves under control, instructing me to focus on her as she kept saying, “Look at me, Betty. Look at me.” She calmed me down saying there was nothing to be embarrassed about. It was a case of a graceful entry gone bad.
Sirens roaring, they loaded me in the vehicle, and off we went to emergency. Vitals were taken and the elevated blood pressure was said to be normal because of the accident. Within a few hours and an applied ice pack, a pair of crutches, and instruction sheets in hand, two men placed me in George Krikorian’s SUV. George had been our guardian angel through the whole ordeal, volunteering to drive my husband to the hospital and remaining there with us for the duration. He was stern in his instructions to “Stay positive” and to think pleasant thoughts. He was a Godsend.
Laying on the gurney and trying to take George’s advice, I attempted to focus on being at Grand Haven on Lake Michigan with my feet dug in the warm summer sand as I gazed out on the beautiful blue water. The pain was still too much.
I still do not know how I managed to get into George’s vehicle, but with his wife Anne and grand daughter Alli along, they drove me all the way back home to Bloomfield Township with Bob following.
I crawled up the back door stairs on my knees, and with a pillow I slid my way to the living room and my leather lounger. There was nothing graceful about all of this.
It has been a very hectic 27 days filled with much discomfort. I have never been confined this long for any reason and those who know me know I don’t take well to being shut in. I am a butterfly whose wings have been temporarily clipped.
My saving grace through all this has been my cadre of friends and loved ones who have stood by my side with endless phone calls, Get Well cards, and unbelievably delicious meals that could feed an army. You all know who you are and you have my sincere thanks for your thoughtfulness and offers of help of any kind. You must know how appreciated all of your attention is. Times like this show the character of your friends.
My allotted cell phone time of 450 minutes expired within two days of the fall. The house phone, too, was pressed into service.
I received regular medical attention from good friend and registered nurse Mary Jo Agbabian. She reported my progress and condition to her very caring husband, Dr. Vahagn Agbabian. What more could a shut-in ask for? We shared tea and sympathy. She arrived with a precious stash of northern Michigan cherry jelly, kourabia, and a rose-filled bud vase. She became, as she says, the entertainment committee.
Bob has held up quite well under the brunt of the ordeal. He has vacuumed, done the laundry and the grocery shopping, and made trips to the pharmacy. He even learned to make green bean stew, and it was just as tasty as mine.
Most of my time was spent flat on my back in bed. I still am not comfortable with even a sheet on my swollen black and blue ankle. I look forward to being back in action. So much is going on in the Armenian community and I cannot attend any of these functions. This too shall pass, but not soon enough. The emergency room physician said it could take six weeks or longer to recover and to stay off my feet. Longer? Heaven forbid. On that note, I appreciate the candles lit in church for me for a quick recovery. I hope the message got through to God.