Improper grammar aside, the word "smashed" made the greatest impact.
The pain radiating up my right arm should've given me a clue, but shock and adrenaline can do wonders to mask the truth.
After a freak windstorm at an art fair in Canandaigua sent our vendor booth sailing -- and me with it, clinging like a drowned rat to our sinking ship -- we spent the next five hours at the hospital while Good Samaritans did their best to gather what remained of my husband, Kevin's broken, drenched photographic inventory.
Moments after I landed, I lay on the ground in the rain waiting for the EMTs to arrive, my excruciatingly pained arm resting across my abdomen and my thoughts wildly careening from "how will Flying Whale Studios weather this?" to "how will we manage the garden?"
We've got to can peaches!
Half the garlic I pulled last week still needs to be peeled and frozen...
We were going to pick cucumbers this week and attempt pickles for the first time...
I need to plant more green beans... and beets... and lettuce... and turnips...
The grapes will be ready in a few weeks... So much for trying to make a fresh grape pie!
We even have a final batch of sour cherry juice in the fridge waiting to be strained, reheated and canned!
Several days later, after seeing a specialist at Strong, we're awaiting word on surgery. With my distal radius and ulna definitively broken where they meet the wrist and my arm stuck upright in a bright, purple cast, the enormity of just how much I can't do has come crashing down.
Pain killers may be dulling the intense ache in my wrist, but they don't touch the impotence permeating the rest of my bones.
Whether you classify us as landscape gardeners or urban homesteaders, the fact is, halfway through the growing season is the worst time to have your dominant hand useless.
But we've been overwhelmed by the kindnesses of others -- from the young lady who held an umbrella over me after we called 911, to the vendors who packed up our belongings, to the fellow artists who have offered assistance, to loved ones who have scrambled to ease the financial blow, to friends who gave us food and laughter, to the co-worker who volunteered his sons to help in the garden.
Our phones and email accounts have been ringing and buzzing and pinging with gestures of support.
It's touched us deeply and buoyed our spirits.
Soon is a relative term -- may take weeks, it may even take months -- but I can feel it in my bones that soon, when people ask how we're doing, we'll be able to report: "Just smashing!"