My Brother Got Hit By a Car

Life continues to take its twists. The son is back from his flirtation with TV stardom, and the daughter arrived home safely from The Big Apple. These kids are close, 22 months apart, and amazingly they don’t fight. I hear stories from friends and acquaintances about how their kids are engaging in constant warfare. It doesn’t happen in our house.
I believe they actually missed one another while she became the world traveler. They’re out of school this week, and today they’ve been driving around town together. They’re just running errands. It’s kind of sweet, really.
Just when you think everything has smoothed out, don’t let down your guard. I was sitting at work, minding my own business, when my phone rang. My brother was in the Emergency Room (thankfully, at a facility which generates my paycheck, as well as my wife’s). Dude was not working today and decided to ride a bicycle to a nearby store. He got hit by a car. When you’re middle-aged with an older brother, you don’t expect to get this phone call: “I’m in the emergency room. I was riding my bike and got hit by a car.” Two or three years ago, a phone call like that in reference to one of my kids would have been alarming but not necessarily surprising. But, there it is: an ordinary Wednesday and your brother gets hit by a car. He’s okay, with some bruises, contusions and a few stitches, but doggone.
I’m telling you, life is interesting. What’s next, my wife falls off the monkey bars on the playground? My father’s skateboard hits a crack in the sidewalk and he takes a header?
I’m ready to predict what’s next. Our health system has acquired the latest in cardiac imaging, a 64-slice CT scanner. I have volunteered to let them try the thing out on me. I fully expect them to take one look at my heart and the surrounding arteries and scream, “Stent! Stat!” Or, “Crack him open, we’re doing a quintuple bypass!” I like my bacon and my butter and my cheese, and I’m thinking my arteries are slamming shut on me.
Who knows, the way things are going, they might just find Chicken Pox or Measles.
I have to take a drug to slow down my heart rate and another one to dilate my vascular system. But the hardest part might be avoiding caffeine for 12 hours before the test. Either that, or the IV they plan to use to inject dye into my body. Sounds like a pleasant experience, doesn’t it?
I’m happy to do it, though. As I’ve mentioned, my diet leaves something to be desired. Who needs a heart attack? Isn’t it strange, though? You take the opportunity to subject yourself to a state of the art diagnostic process with a notion of warding off a potential life-threatening issue, and suddenly you’re hit in the face with reality. It might not matter, anyway. You could just be minding your own business, getting a little exercise. Then, without warning, you get blasted by a Toyota Tercel. It could happen. Just ask my brother.

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