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I love the new addition about the gas stations. OMG I laughed so hard. I can just see the frustration on your face. How funny. But then some women really are not mechanically minded. Take me for instance. (This happened about 14 years ago, please don't ever tell anyone – just kidding, I’m going to post it in my journal) I went to the gas station to get gas (well, duh! I guess that’s obvious) any way we have two stations in town that pump the gas for you. The gas guy said that I needed a quart of oil. I had watched my ex-husband check the oil many times so I thought I could handle putting the oil in so I bought a quart and proceeded home. At home I opened the hood, after much tugging and groaning and cussing...yes don't forget the cussing part…that was the day my then five year old daughter learned a whole new vocabulary that got me called to the principal’s office when she repeated her new words to her kindergarten teacher…but that’s for another day. So the hood is finally open and I stand there staring at the engine which to me resembles an insidious beast of pain, torment, and money being shred into bite sized pieces. I’m sure that’s what the fan is for. So I spy the little curly –Q thing on the top of the oil stick, pull it out and proceed to pour the oil in. It took me almost an hour to get all of the oil poured in that damn little hole! I was covered with oil, the engine was covered with oil. The only place that I’m sure that no oil got to was the well where the oil goes. My ex-husband (he wasn’t an ex then) came home toward the end of this disaster, took one look at me and laughed until tears rolled down his face. He said he had never seen anything so pathetic as me standing there covered in oil trying to play grease monkey. I’ve never touch another oil container again! I always have the kid at Total do it.

These are the words that no mother ever wants to hear about one of her pups. And yet this is what the doctor at the Mayo Clinic said to me as I stood shaking in front of him, tears running in tracks down my face.



It started as a normal day, much like any other. I rose, fed and walked the pack then headed off to work. Around 9 am, my son walked into my office. “Mom, my car won’t start. Can I take yours?” My son was attending College in Mitchell about 50 miles away. He drove back and forth each day. “OK, Sweetie. But be careful!” “Aww Mom, don’t worry about your car. I’ll take care of it.” I hugged him. “Honey I’m not worried about the car. It can be replaced, You can’t.” I handed him the keys and off he went. It was December 2nd, 2005.



Several days previously a horrific Ice storm had blanketed the state. Thick, hard ice fell and covered everything. Trees cracked and fell beneath the tremendous weight. Roads were closed due to unsafe driving conditions. The next 2 days produced warmer weather but patches of ice still clung to many surface roads.



At 10 am the phone ran. The male voice on the other end of the line was not familiar as he asked, “May I speak with Yvette?” “Speaking, how may I help you?” Then the most feared words came over the phone. It was the Highway Patrol. “Ma’am, there has been an accident.”



As my heart leaped into my throat, he gave me the details of the event that would change my life forever.



My son had been driving, under the speed limit due to road conditions, when a farmer pulled his tractor across the road in front of him. The man had not even looked. This he told to the officer. He was cold and just trying to get inside the filling station ASAP. My son, seeing the tractor, attempted to drive into the ditch along side the road. But he hit a patch of Ice and slid under the rear tire of the tractor.



They had to cut him out of the car. The ambulance took him to Mitchell. I headed out to Mitchell as soon as I could. As I walked into the hospital I was informed that they had flown my son to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, MN. His internal injuries were so sever that they couldn’t begin to help him here.



Seven hours later I arrived in Rochester. And now I stood in front of this tall man with compassionate eyes as he told me to prepare for the worst. His pelvis was broken in 58 places. His thighbone had been shoved up into his body cavity about 8 inches, damaging kidneys, liver, spleen and intestines while shattering his hip socket. He had massive internal bleeding. And he had broken his right hand.



I cried at first, then dried my tears and prepared to see my first born child. He was a massive bruise. I held on as long as I could. When they came to give him a pain shot, I stepped into the hall and broke down.



He was in surgery for almost ten hours the next day. Then again for seven the following. The bleed had slowed but not stopped and they were getting worried. The next week was hell on earth as I sat for hour after hour listening to my baby scream in pain. They had him on morphine but even at high doses, then pain was overwhelming.



But the bleeding did stop. And the surgeon worked a miracle. With pins and plates they put my little humpty dumpty back together again. On December 17th we left the hospital for home.



It’s been over a year now and I am amazed. He hardly walks with a limp. He still will not drive past the spot of the accident. I feel that he must do this to completely heal but he will do it in his own time. I thank God, my personal Totem and the prayers, energy and strength that others shared that I was spared living without my oldest child.



Do miracles happen? Yes, Virginia, they do.