Greetings!Thanksgiving in the US is one week from today. I have so much for which to be thankful, and I’m trying hard to remember that as I fight against feelings of sadness over all that we have missed out on this year and all that we will be missing out on this Thanksgiving. In Minnesota, the latest COVID restrictions prohibit social gatherings with anyone outside your household. I know the same is true in many other places around the country. This means moms (or dads) will be roasting a turkey for just a few and left wondering what to do with ten pounds of leftovers; it means all those youngish adult children won’t be coming home for Thanksgiving dinner proudly bearing their contributions of wine and store-bought rolls; it means grandparents won’t be hugging their grandchildren; it means cousins who haven’t seen one another since last Thanksgiving may have to wait another year to catch up; it means no good-natured ribbing when, much to your brother-in-law's dismay, your team wins again; it means toasting one another via video call and trying hard to pretend it’s the same thing as being there.
So much in life has changed, so much more so than I ever dreamed possible when this all began, but there is still so much for which to be thankful. And I am. Every day.


And one of the biggest things I’m thankful for is all of you. Your support and encouragement, your kind reviews and emails, buoy me day after day. The fact that so many of you who were fans of the Misty Lake books and who normally read in the romance genre took the plunge and gave I Know an Old Lady a chance is something for which I will be forever grateful. I Know an Old Lady hit Number 1 in its category on Amazon back in September and since has spent many days in that spot. No matter how many times I see that #1 Bestseller banner next to my book, it’s still a thrill. And it’s not just in the US where things are going well. Occasionally, I venture to other Amazon sites and I won’t soon forget the day when I found either I Know an Old Lady or one of the Misty Lake books ranking in the top 50, or top 25, even top 10, in Germany, Australia, Canada, and the UK. All those markets, at the same time! It’s still baffling to me sometimes to consider that people around the world are reading something I wrote. Never, when I first began this journey, did I dare to dream these kinds of things would happen. So, thank you, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart. 


What's New?I’m nearly done with the first book in my next series. After that departure from the clean romance genre with I Know an Old Lady, I’m back to familiar territory. This will be a three-book series and will tell the stories of Ellie, Nicole, and Max. Each has a very different past and a very different reason she suddenly finds herself doing something she never dreamed she'd be doing…teaching middle school! Ellie’s story is first. Originally from Oklahoma, Caston, Wisconsin is light years from everything—and everyone—she knows, and that almost makes up for the seemingly endless winters and the fact that she can’t get a glass of sweet tea to save her life. I hope you’ll enjoy getting to know Ellie and her friends. 


Writing this book has been such a different process than the previous books I’ve written. With this one, I find I’m constantly stopping in the middle of what I’m writing to write a scene, or even an entire chapter, that will happen much later in the story. The result of this scatterbrained writing is that nearly everything is written, but now I have to put it all in order, fill in the blanks, and make sure it all flows. It certainly wasn’t my intention at the outset to write this way, and for someone who thrives on order and schedules, for whom surprises are often the equivalent of nightmares, it's been a challenge. The only explanation I have is that my writing mirrors my life right now. The situation at home and around the world is constantly changing, it seems I don’t know from one day to the next what to expect, and life is something of a roller coaster of emotions. I guess it only makes sense that my writing would reflect all of that. So, I deal with the fractured writing process the same way I try to deal with a fractured world, all the while hoping and praying things return to normalcy sooner rather than later. 

 My hope for you is that you’re still finding things for which to be thankful, and as you celebrate the holidays that are special to you over the coming weeks, you find joy and peace. 
Now, I’m off to buy a turkey and to try to figure out how to make it taste like my mom’s. 


Be well,

Margaret 
​

​​Those are words that should never be in the same sentence. Mother’s Day Labor Camp? Sounds miserable, I know, but that’s what I really wanted this year for Mother’s Day…my kids, at my disposal, for a weekend of manual labor to get ahead of the endless list of chores. Labor camp is what we’ve lovingly dubbed our intense, try to get everything done, work sessions. So, instead of going to the Twins’ game as one of those kids suggested, I presented the labor camp idea and despite some pregame complaining, some murmurs of necessary time on IR, even rumored doctor’s notes, both kids wound up giving me a full nine innings. Extra innings, on Saturday.
 
We had a tough schedule: lawn work, window washing, garden prep, flower and shrub shopping and planting, spray painting outdoor flower pots that were showing their age, building new flower boxes for under the windows, lots of heavy lifting, and assorted tasks that presented themselves along the way. And that was before the unexpected curve ball that was the broken pool pipe.
 
The pool guys had been by on Thursday to open our pool for the season. On Saturday morning, just as labor camp was getting into full swing, I discovered a soggier-than-normal back yard. Suspiciously soggier yet near all the pool pumps, gadgets, and pipes. Trying not to panic or sink into despair, I put in a call to pool guy Justin. While waiting for Justin to return my call, the kids and I knocked some of the tasks on the to-do list right out of the park. We were on fire! Definitely bringing our A-game to this labor camp.
 
Then Justin called, gave me his best guess on what the problem was, and what we could do if we didn’t want to wait until he could get someone out to take a look. Now the kids and I may have been coming into our own, but tackling a job that was going to involve digging down by the plumbing, finding the 90-degree pipe elbows, playing around with the valves to try to determine which of the pipes was leaking seemed a bit daunting for the three of us. Time to call the team’s Ace.
 
Those of you who know me have probably wondered why there hadn’t yet been mention of that Ace, husband Phil, to this point. He’s been busy wrapping up a basement remodel at my sister’s house so was off Saturday on “personal leave.” Not ideal timing, but nothing the three of us couldn’t cover. Or so we thought. After consulting with our Ace, we three armed ourselves with shovels, tarps, and buckets and attacked the soggy yard. Knowing from Justin that the elbows were about a foot underground (Lie #1), and that the break would be clearly visible when we dug that far (Lie #2), we were optimistic. (Mistake #1). 
 
The first thing we learned was that we couldn’t “just dig.” Once upon a time, in our infinite wisdom, Phil and I decided that incorporating tons of rock into our landscaping was a good idea. Not so good when one has to find a broken pipe somewhere below said tons of rock. So, Step 1: Remove the rock. We did. Step 2: Dig. We tried. Our yard is clay. Heavy, heavy, clay. And that’s when it’s dry. Saturated with untold gallons of escaped pool water, it’s nearly immovable. At least for the two female members of the team. But, we soldiered on. We battled seeping ground water that filled the hole faster than we could dig. We sacrificed manicures (some of us) for the greater good and stuck our hands right in that heavy, cold, disgusting mud and scooped. We ignored the mud and water that seeped into our shoes and up our legs, the mud that got on our clothes and our faces. We dug, far deeper than a foot, slipped in the mud, fell in the mud, dropped a phone in the mud, sucked up countless gallons of water with the Shop Vac, and finally found those elbows. But we also laughed a lot, learned on the fly, and found that pesky leaking pipe. Oh, the joy! We were so proud of ourselves. Until we realized we had no idea what came next. Actually, we knew what came next, but cutting pipes seemed far above our paygrade. Then, at that very moment, the clouds parted, a ray of sunshine brighter than any ray of sunshine that had ever before graced our fair planet shone through and landed on the shoulders of our Ace. There he was, the answer to our troubles. I’m pretty sure I heard him humming, “Put me in, Coach, I’m ready to play…” as he jogged toward his rapidly deflating teammates. 
 
Under Phil’s guidance, the hole got substantially larger, boards were called into duty to form barriers to hold back that offending mud, pipes were cut, pipes were replaced, and just before total darkness set in, the extra-innings marathon ended in victory for the hometown favorites. 
 
Even with that less-than-welcome pool disaster, by the end of the weekend everything was built, painted, hauled, cleaned, planted, repaired, replaced, and washed. We even had time for ice cream sundaes on Mother’s Day. 
 
While Phil is definitely the glue that holds together this family labor camp, the kids and I came up big in our pinch-hitting roles. While we may not have batted a thousand, we held our own. To paraphrase Christopher Robin, we learned we’re braver than we believed, stronger than we seemed, and smarter than we thought. And I’m thrilled that I’ve come up with a new Mother’s Day tradition. Same time, next year kids!
 
Oh, and now I just learned they’re faster than I dreamed because they’re running away like they’re stealing home in the bottom of the ninth in Game Seven of the World Series. My kids are the best! 

 
You may have heard it’s been cold here in Minnesota. Really cold. Once-in-a-generation cold, the weather people are saying. Winter is always cold in Minnesota, but in this age of Let’s Name Every Weather Event and news outlets demanding we heed their dire warnings, you’d think our demise is imminent. Schools have been closed for three days, stores, restaurants, and movie theaters have closed, and even the Post Office suspended delivery yesterday. Everywhere you look, cars are stalled, windows are frosted over, and bored kids are throwing boiling water into the air to watch it instantly freeze. Disclaimer: Yes, it’s actually pretty cool to watch and yes, I’ve done it. 
 
Now, I have a dog. A Golden Retriever, to be precise, and she’s used to daily walks. She doesn’t understand Really Big Cold!,  Stay In The House If You Know What’s Good For You! cold. Actually, she loves the cold, but there are limits. I’ve kept her in, mostly, for the better part of three days. She hasn’t been happy, and she was letting me know. It was time for a walk.
 
I feel the need to clarify. I’m not crazy. I waited for the -30F temperature and the -55F wind chill to improve to a much more reasonable -4F with -17F wind chill. (For those of you who measure temperature in numbers followed by a C, let’s just say it’s Really Cold! (See above). As a born and bred Minnesotan, though, nothing I can’t handle. I donned the snow pants, the jacket, the hat, the mittens, the scarf, the sunglasses (because yes, it’s sunny, even as a few snowflakes fly), and the boots. Really the only way you’d know there was a person in all that mess was that the blob was actually capable of some movement. And just so you don’t report me to the ASPCA, I coated the doggy’s paws to help protect them from the cold.
 
We’re off! The Golden Retriever is thrilled beyond belief. This is simply too good to be true! She bolts through the yard and to the walking path behind our house unable to believe her good fortune. She bounds through the snow, rolls in the snow, chases a mouse she happened upon through the snow, and eats a lot of snow. I walk. Not too bad, I’m thinking. Then I take a few breaths, as a person eventually has to do, and because the scarf is directing that breath straight upward, the sunglasses immediately fog up. This isn’t unexpected as it happens on every cold walk, but unlike every other cold walk, when I swipe the lenses to clear that fog, I’m met with ice. Yes, my breath immediately froze on the lenses of my sunglasses. Okay. Not too serious. They’re prescription sunglasses, to be sure, but I’m not blind without them and this will still work. Except that as soon as I don’t have the glasses to provide some sort of barrier from the wind, my eyes start to water. Moments after that, my eyelashes freeze together. It’s getting a little more serious. I rub and try to blink but end up just squinting through the tiny slit I can manage without ripping out all my eyelashes. 
 
Update on the Golden Retriever: I’m watching her (through the above-mentioned slits) for signs of frozen paws. She’ll alternate holding up one paw then another when she gets too cold. She can actually get quite dramatic complete with limping and sad eyes. Nope. She’s still happily frolicking through the snow. 
 
My nose is running now. Again, not unexpected, it is below zero and this isn’t my first rodeo, but you’d think it was since my coat pockets are empty of tissues. Alas, sniffling will have to suffice. The snow pants are new and they’re making a strange crackling sound. My old snow pants never made that sound, and I’m starting to wonder if they’ll break into pieces at any moment. I pat the pocket on those snow pants to assure myself I have my phone. I’m not sure whom I’m going to call, but it’s reassuring nonetheless. And then, more fun. I attempt to shift the scarf a bit as it’s starting to choke me and find it’s frozen to my face. Yep, right there on my cheek, a bond that I’m afraid to sever as I’m fairly certain a good chunk of skin will come with the scarf. It will have to wait until we’re home and things can properly thaw.
 
Speaking of home, it’s time to turn around. Seven minutes one way means seven minutes the other way. I’ve always been good at math and I know fourteen minutes is enough for today.  It takes some convincing, but the Golden Retriever eventually follows me. She does a few more laps around the yard before joining me at the door. She seems pleased and I’m certain she’s forgiven me for the past three days. 
 
I remove the layers, saving the scarf for last to be sure it’s no longer bonded to my face. I check the mirror and am quite happy that my face appears to be intact. The black drips running down my cheeks as my eyelashes thaw can be wiped up easily enough. 
 
All in all, it felt good to get outside. I have to agree with the Golden Retriever…three days is too long to stay in the house. Hope to see you on the path tomorrow!

Hello friends! 
I’ve been very lax lately with communication but I have a few updates for you.

First, Book Four in the Misty Lake series, Anchored in Misty Lake, is so close to completion, I can taste it. It’s taken much longer than I had hoped to reach this point, but I’m thrilled to have the finish line in sight. Once I wrap it up, it’s on to editing and cover design. The good news is I already have a start on Book Five so am hopeful there won’t be as long a gap between books four and five.

Next, I’m excited to be participating in a friend’s Advent Book Event. I hope you check it out starting December 1. She’s featuring many great books along with chances at prizes. Misty Lake is being featured on December. 18. Here’s the link; watch for updates as the event draws closer. http://kaymacleodbooks.com/iac2017/

Exciting news today…I found out The Inn at Misty Lake is up for a Reader’s Choice Award in the romance category! The winner is chosen by popular vote so I’d be very grateful if you’d pop by and cast a vote. You don’t even have to register, just click. The romance category is big so you have to scroll a ways to find The Inn at Misty Lake under “T”.  Here’s the link http://www.tckpublishing.com/readers-...
Please help me spread the word.

Finally, Happy Thanksgiving to those of you who will be celebrating next week. I’m having a houseful. Anxiety is setting in as I type these words…my mom usually cooks and I’m feeling the pressure!

As always, thank you for your support.

​All the best,
Margaret

The other day I was asked about my writing. I love it when that happens. The conversation started out like I’ve come to expect. I answered a few questions about my writing process, about the publishing process, and about how I get my inspirations and ideas. These were questions I’ve been asked before, so I’ve given the answers some thought and I feel comfortable with those answers. What happened next, though, caught me off guard. I was asked if I plan to change my happy-go-lucky writing style given the fact that the world is anything but happy-go-lucky right now.
 
Wow. My first reaction was simply no. I write what I write. It’s contemporary, yes, but at the end of the day,  it's fiction. I attempted to answer in this way, explaining that I prefer lighter topics with happy endings and, at least with the series I’m currently writing, don’t plan to change it much. The person I was speaking with didn’t agree. One of my main characters is a small-town sheriff. How could I not reference the violence against police officers happening right now in our country? 
 
I wanted to answer, “Because I don’t want to.” I didn’t. Instead, I tried to explain that I don’t often make references to specific current events or actual dates in my stories precisely because I don’t want them to be pinned to a specific date. I realize that down the road, as technology and the world changes, it won’t be difficult to determine at least the approximate time frame in which the books take place, but I don’t want to pin it down more than it has to be. Referencing current events would do just that.
 
But I really wanted to say, “Because I don’t want to.” Shout it, maybe.
 
I thought about that question for a long time afterwards. Should my stories reflect what’s happening in the world? Is it realistic to write about someone in law enforcement and not at least mention the fear, the danger, and the unknown of the everyday? And what about the world at large? If my characters are traveling, do I talk about taking extra precautions, about being aware of possible terrorist attacks at airports, train stations, or even restaurants? Do I give the impression that I’m not paying any attention to what’s going on in the world and in my own back yard if I don’t incorporate some of it into my books?
 
“Because I don’t want to.” I kept hearing the words over and over in my head. So, do I ignore the news, simply go to my happy place in my current book and never look at the headlines? No. A thousand times no. I’m glued to the headlines. I have my phone apps set to give me notifications when there’s a breaking news story. Don’t think for a minute that I’m not fully aware of every shooting and every terrorist attack. I have a son who will be leaving in just a few weeks to study for a semester in Europe. He will be in Germany and Austria, in and around Munich specifically, where the environment has been anything but stable. Or safe. I have relatives who are police officers. I worry constantly and sleep little. So no, I am not ignoring the news, but I’ve decided that’s precisely why I don’t, and won’t, delve too deeply into the sad and horrific in my writing. More than ever, I need happy. I can’t be the only one.
 
When I’m in writing mode, I’m immersed in the story and the setting of the story. Sure, my characters face problems and heartache, but they are the problems and heartache that exist in their world. Their fictitious world. I don’t feel the need to bring real-world events into their world.  If I’d allow that, then I would never escape those issues and neither would my readers. And sometimes I need to escape. Just for a little while.
 
When I choose a book to read or a movie to watch, I go for the happy ending or the silly comedy whenever I can. I don’t need to be reminded of the bad while I’m reading or watching something for entertainment. The headlines will be there when I’m done. I’ll catch up on anything I missed. Or, if it’s urgent, my phone will alert me. But hopefully, for a couple of hours, I forgot about all the bad and just relaxed and laughed. If my stories can do the same for someone else, then I’ve done what I set out to do.
 
So I’ll continue to write about happy endings, keeping the unhappy current events separate from my stories.
And I’ll continue to pray for a world in which such a topic doesn’t even have to be discussed.

There’s something to be said for being busy.
 
It seems like over the past several months I’ve been woefully inefficient when it comes to writing. I have big intentions…a day wide open in front of me, nothing on the calendar, the perfect opportunity to churn out some pages. What happens? A lot of nothing. I stare at a blank screen for a while, I go online and waste time, I find reasons to get up from my desk and wander around the house. And at the end of the day? Not much, if anything, to show. Why? Well, I think I may have found the answer. Warning: This isn’t rocket science, just something I had forgotten and have recently rediscovered.
 
I’ve been working at my “real” job much more in the past several weeks. I have a part-time, on-call sort of job so there are busy times and not–so-busy times. Lately, it’s been very busy. When I get home after working all day, there are a dozen different things that need my attention. I get them done, efficiently I might add because I’m in work mode, and move on to writing. And surprise of surprises! I’m actually writing. Turns out, having a full schedule makes me get stuff done. Seems like this is something I should have known.
 
Since my recent breakthrough, I’ve been thinking back to when my kids were in school and involved in sports and countless other activities. My daughter, especially, could have given lessons in efficiency. She was a competitive swimmer, played other sports, participated in school activities and worked from the time she was old enough. Necessity taught her to use her time wisely and she seemed able to find seventy minutes in every hour. She made it to school, to practice and to work on time while still getting her homework done and finding time for fun. I remember the phone call, after she had started college, when she told me she’d come to a realization. Apparently having more free time meant her school work was suffering. She joined a swim club in college just so she’d be busier!
 
The same is true for me. When I quit my full-time job I envisioned getting so many things done around the house that I had been putting off for years. And I would write. I’d sit at my desk, sip my coffee, and the words would flow. Nothing to interrupt me, nowhere I had to be…a perfect environment. Not so. Not even close.
 
So, I’ve again realized what I should have never forgotten. Keep myself busy, keep my mind cranking, and wonderful things will happen. 

I’m a planner. A compulsive list maker. A scheduler. There are more names, I’m sure— some probably not so nice—but that’s it, in a nutshell…I am not a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl.
 
Many disagree with my style (some of them live in my house) but it serves me well. I like things to be orderly and organized. Surprises are not my thing. I may claim that I’ve become more easy going over the years, that juggling kids, pets, jobs, and everything that goes along with all of the above, has made me loosen the reigns a bit. But it would be a lie. My house is full of calendars (God bless the inventor of smartphone calendars!), note pads, and a slew of lists. It’s January 22. I’ve already been looking ahead to next December to see when Christmas falls and to figure how we’ll fit in all of the family obligations.
 
Some of you know that the past few months have been full of accidents and injuries in our family. For a group that’s been relatively healthy and injury free, we’ve had our share, and more. Most recently, college-aged son Dylan broke his wrist in October. It required surgery, a metal plate and ten screws to put it back together. He missed some school which, of course, stressed me out far more than it did him. Less than a month later, he jumped down a few stairs, landed funny, and managed to break a bone in his leg as well as to tear his ACL and LCL. On top of that, there was some rather inexplicable nerve damage resulting in no feeling or movement in his lower leg and foot. More missed school and definitely not on any of my calendars or lists.
 
It’s been a long haul involving an MRI, an EMG, and several doctor visits, but surgery was finally scheduled for this morning to repair the ACL and to do something called a nerve decompression to hopefully relieve the pressure on the nerve thereby getting it firing again. We brought Dylan home from school last night, got up at 4:00 this morning, left at 5:00 to arrive at the hospital at 6:00 only to find that Dylan’s surgeon (the third orthopedic specialist we’ve seen and one of only a handful in the area to deal with unusual cases such as his) had called in sick.
 
I think I stared at the surgery receptionist for a full minute before I spoke. I don’t think I cried but I can’t be certain. Long story short, we left the hospital just minutes after arriving. My emotions ran the gamut…frustrated for another schedule shot to pieces; guilty for “strongly encouraging” my husband to take the day off to be at the hospital, now, for no reason; and broken-hearted for my son facing yet another set-back on what’s been a long and painful journey.
 
When we got home, husband and son immediately crawled back into their respective beds. I brewed some more coffee and pulled out my calendar.  It’s what I do, and it’s what gets me through.

This blog post was written on 1-22-16 but, for some reason, I never posted it. I suppose it wasn't on one of my lists of things to do!

​The issue of marketing a book beyond my small circle of family and friends continues to be something with which I struggle. It’s such a big step outside my comfort zone that I have taken to various online platforms and discussion groups to try to feed off the advice and support of other independent authors. It’s helping. I’ve learned I’m not alone; in fact, most seem to be in the same predicament. I’m starting to panic a little less when I read about something else I should be doing to promote the book. Now, I just sigh and chalk it up to another thing I’ll try to get to one day soon.
 
Since I’m a compulsive researcher, I’ve done a lot of reading and digging into what it takes to make it as an independent author. Aside from writing something of quality that others want to read, it really all boils down to getting people talking about your books. And that, my friends, is where you come in!
 
Have you discovered an author that you absolutely love? Sure, you go the bookstore or log on to Amazon and buy the latest bestseller, but is there an independent author you’ve stumbled upon who has grabbed your attention? If so, let people know. But you have, you say. Well, sure, maybe you’ve mentioned the book to a friend or two, but what else can you do to help ensure your newly-discovered gem of a writer continues to write? Let me count the ways…
 

• Mention the book/author to your friends, family, kids’ teachers, hair stylist, the person next to you in line at the grocery store, co-workers, neighbors, dog groomer…well, you get the idea. The more people, the better. And when I say mention, I mean write down the author’s name and book title on your receipt and give it to your new friend at the grocery store; give your kids’ teachers a copy of the book for Christmas (you didn’t know what to get her anyway, did you?); keep steering your stylist to the topic of books…who wants to discuss split ends for an hour?
• Spread the word at your book club. If it’s your turn to choose the book, choose one by this author and introduce him/her to some other avid readers.
• Request the book/author at your local library. Libraries have budgets for new books and oftentimes are looking for someone new, especially if it happens to be a local author. Don’t give up if it doesn’t appear on the shelves right away. Librarians sometimes need a gentle (or not so gentle) reminder.
• Add the book to your shelves on Goodreads and follow the author if he/she has a Goodreads author profile. If you’re not familiar with Goodreads, it’s an online delight for book lovers. Once you join, you are able to list books you’ve read, see what your friends are reading, read reviews for books you’re considering reading, and receive recommendations based on the types of books you enjoy. There are also lots of free book promotions that cost you nothing but a moment of your time to enter and just may result in you winning a new release. Check it out; I think you’ll be glad you did.
• Post a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or any other place the author has a presence. Reviews help drive sales.
• Visit the author’s website, comment, and sign up for the mailing list. Not only will you help the author, there are perks for you, too. You will be among the first to receive sneak-peeks at upcoming works, to learn about giveaways or other promotions, to offer input into plot lines or character naming, and on and on. It’s a fun way to interact with your favorite author and it will thrill the author to hear from you. Trust me.

 
I have come across some amazing authors by browsing Amazon’s Kindle library. If you have a Kindle or the Kindle reading app, (remember, you don’t need a Kindle, you just need to download the free reading app and you can read Kindle books on any device) I encourage you to check out the free promotions and those books that are free with a Kindle Unlimited subscription. You’re not out anything but a little bit of your time if you discover you don’t care for the author, but you may just discover someone wonderful.
 
Since joining the ranks and getting a taste for what it’s like to publish a book, I have made an effort to rate and review books, connect with authors, and do what I can to support those that I like. Honestly, it’s something I didn’t think too much about before becoming one of them. Maybe you’re in the same boat. If so, I encourage you to consider supporting someone who, I promise you, will appreciate your efforts.
 

Fight or Flight?

Amazing things happen when a person (or any animal, for that matter) is faced with a perceived dangerous situation. The brain sends out all sorts of signals to release hormones that result in the body preparing for fight or flight. Heart and lung activity increases, vision becomes focused, glucose is produced to provide a burst of energy. Amazing, really. Natural instincts make a male more likely to stand and fight while a female is more likely to take flight. The exception is a mother protecting her young. And, I believe, in human females, this instinct extends to one’s spouse. When you’re a wife and a mom, flight usually isn’t an option. At least not one I want to consider. But I’m curious…how do you deal with frightening or traumatic situations?

Recently, I was faced with one. My husband Phil, who does a lot of woodworking, was out in his shop. I went to bug him and to chat for a few minutes before leaving him to carry on while I went to play in the yard with the dog. Just as I was heading back inside, I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see my husband running for the front of the house, hand clutched to his midsection, and asking, “Can you take me to the hospital?” 

It took only a moment to see the blood and only a moment longer for that feeling to strike. You know the one…that feeling where you know you have to stay strong when all you want to do is run away and hope that when you return, you’ll find that what you were running from never actually happened. In a nutshell, you’re considering flight, but know that you have to fight.
 
I shouted a few questions regarding the status of his hand, possible missing fingers, whether said fingers were still on the shop floor and if I needed to go try to find them before running after Phil, who just kept saying, “We need to go, we need to go."
 
Now, Phil is not one to panic. It takes a lot to see even the slightest tilt in his usual even keel. Obviously, it was serious. I grabbed my purse and keys and we got in the car. I don’t remember the drive too clearly. I know I was going close to seventy (no, I was not on the highway) and, though don’t recommend it and hope to never have to repeat it, my weaving and honking was, I think, pretty impressive.

 Long story short, we spent about an hour in the emergency room before heading to surgery with a hand specialist. We were told repeatedly how lucky we were that the accident happened when the hand specialist was on call. I guess I understood the sentiment, but it was hard to fully concur. Lucky?? Really??

About seven hours after the ordeal began, we headed home. Phil, with three fingers somewhat shorter than they had been when the day began, but with a less horrible outcome than “hand meets joiner” could have been. Me, exhausted and unable to stop replaying the scene in my mind.
 
Over the past couple of weeks, Phil has thanked me several times for how I handled the situation. I keep dwelling on what I should have done differently. I don’t want any more chances to find out if I will improve with practice. I do not need any more next times.

This marks the third and final member of my family to have an emergency situation. Daughter Claire had a skiing accident when she was eleven. Horrifying is seeing your child strapped to a backboard and being pulled down a mountain, barely conscious and struggling to call for Mommy while the paramedics try to ascertain if she is able to move her fingers and toes. Thankfully, that time I was surrounded by Phil, my parents, and my sister. I had a lot of support. Son Dylan, at seventeen, had his appendix rupture. Equally as horrifying is watching nurses shift to crisis mode when your son’s temperature suddenly skyrockets past 107. Phil was out of town so I dealt with that one alone. And now Phil. I’m done, I just want to put that out there. There’s a reason I’m not a doctor or a nurse, why I don’t watch medical dramas, why I feel nauseated upon entering a hospital…I don’t like this stuff! I’ve now dealt with a crisis with each one of them, I’ve put in my time, and by the grace of God we’ve all come through relatively unscathed. So I’m done. No more, please and thank you.

And now I ask again…how do you handle traumatic situations? Fight or flight?