Tunnel vision, in medical terms, is the loss of peripheral vision with retention of central vision, resulting in a constricted circular tunnel-like field of vision. In layman’s terms, something has drawn your focus and you see nothing else. When you hit a patch of ice, sending your car on an intersecting path with a telephone pole, you don’t see the field or the cows or the barn. You only see the immovable object that will shortly send you and your family to the hospital. That is tunnel vision.

On a very recent afternoon, I walked out of a business meeting feeling very well about it. As I retreived my phone to turn the ringers on again, I looked first to the icons on the screen. One missed call and two text messages. The missed call was from Sarah. Of course, I thought nothing of it. I usually talk with her and/or Tyler a few times a day. Mostly because Sarah needs to tell me a funny story about our little man, or she’s taking dinner requests (yeah, she’s that awesome, even though I usually leave it up to her judgment), or because Tyler misses his daddy and wants to say “hi.” I pressed the left convenience key on the phone to open up my messages. I didn’t remember stopping in the middle of the parking lot, unable to visually process anything except the first text message. I do remember my next breath because it burned when my diaphragm hitched.

911. Please call.

I’ve always told Sarah to send me a text message if there was ever an emergency. It seems that text messages and emails always come through my phone, even when I have no cell signal. If I miss a phone call while I’m in an area with no service, I’ll never know you called unless you leave a voicemail. And even then, the voicemail notification doesn’t show up until I’ve been in a service area for a while. A text message sits on the airwaves for up to three days, waiting for the phone to turn on or enter a service area. So, I explained to Sarah that with all the driving I do to sometimes very rural areas, a text mesage is the most reliable way to reach me, especially in an emergency. I also never answer the phone when I’m in front of a customer, but I do glance at the screen when messages come in. Just. In. Case.

And here I was, three hours from home, looking at a text message that I’ve never seen before. My initial reaction was one of confusion. Pure confusion.

And then, fear.

I pressed and held the “S” button on my phone, the screen read “Calling Sarah… Connected.” My earpiece beeped twice, signalling that it was connected, via bluetooth, to my phone, and then began ringing in my ear. I viewed the second text message as my earpiece rang a second time.

She picked up before the third ring. I inquired almost before Sarah could finish saying “hello.”

After the last few months of cold and dreary weather, the 40ºf (4ºc) temperature this particular afternoon felt very nice. Sarah, Tyler, and Delilah all walked to the park to play in the mild weather. Some previous park-goers left a basketball there. While playing with this basketball, Tyler fell hard, and face-first, on the concrete. He began screaming before even attempting to raise his head. Sarah ran to Tyler as he lifted his head.

“Joe, there was blood everywhere.”

She carried him to the stroller in a run, remaining calm on the exterior, for Tyler. Internally, every other bad feeling and emotion swirled violently. Tyler continued to scream while blood flowed down his face. Sarah opened her water bottle and poured it on his face, hoping to both see the wound and gauge its severity. His nose and uper lip were were lacerated. She watched his upper lip inflate as more blood flowed from inside Tyler’s mouth. Delilah thought she was in trouble when Sarah yelled at her to “come,” and was slow and hesitant in returning. Very quickly, she leashed Delilah and buckled Tyler in his stroller. The trek home was paced somewhere between a speedwalk and a jog. She very desperately wanted to break into a full run, but that would allow the panic overtake the control she was barely able to keep a grasp onto. Knowing she was completely helpless for the moment, Sarah could do nothing more than mentally run through scenarios and options, and tell Tyler that he would be okay.

Sarah finished her story as I drove. They were presently snuggling together on the couch, watching Bolt, while Sarah held an ice pack to Tyler’s mouth. The bleeding was under control shortly after they arrived home. Tyler cut the inside of his lip really bad, but not stitches-worthy. His nose and the area under was also scraped and cut. All that in addition to a very swollen lip made a very sad sight. I pushed and pulled on his teeth when I got home that evening, to make sure he didn’t knock them loose. Tyler pointed to his lip (as if I wouldn’t have noticed it otherwise) and said “ouch.”

The next morning, I deleted the two texts.

911. Please call
Nevermind. I think we’re ok.

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