Gunnison meets Mayberry: The nicest place around

In all my years of watching The Andy Griffith Show reruns, I don’t think we ever saw a hospital in Mayberry. Maybe everyone went to Mount Pilot, the next town over. Who knows. All I know is as I sat among the rocks and debris of my shattered leg and totaled ATV, my first thought was ‘How am I going to find someone to fix this?’ I knew Gunnison was the next town over but it’s a town of 6,500 people, best known for its incredible spirit, not rebuilding legs and rehabbing ribs.

Oh, I could not have been more wrong.

Following the crash, the trek down the mountain to seek medical intervention over the incredibly rough terrain felt worse than the crash itself. Every bump made me believe my rib cage was splitting apart. But there was also a growing dread in my heart. My leg is never going to be the same. I’ll need to be care-flighted to Denver.  Already assessing the long-term damage in my head, I felt isolated. This was bad. Bad. Bad. 

The shift in attitude came as we pulled into the Gunnison Hospital and an energetic crew of Gunnison EMS employees suddenly appeared. They were everywhere at once – in the cab of the truck, setting my leg into an inflatable cast, assuring me I would be okay, behind me to support my back, getting vitals and details of the accident. Inside the ER, the treatment was the same.

Aunt Bee? Is that you? 

Actually, that’s not fair to the Gunnison Hospital staff who, I’m pretty sure, came onto shift following their photoshoot with People Magazine. So it was with every person I came into contact with. From housecleaning to the incredible chefs to my uber-fit, mountain biking, rock climbing nurses who exuded health, fitness, and such positivity I was pretty sure I was in Mayberry. Real hospitals aren’t like this, I told myself, certain I had a concussion. The personal care and genuine concern was the stuff TV shows were made of. I called my husband, who I’d previously sent off to retrieve some personal items and whispered into the phone, “They’re all smiling and happy like a bunch of Danish people. One of them just showed me a picture of her puppy.” [Note: Finland recently ousted Denmark as the Happiest Country in the world]  

Days later when it was time to be released from the hospital, numerous staff members came to see me off, ensure that I was able to get in and out of the truck and remind me how to secure my ribs and leg for the trip back to Texas. 

At the Gunnison airport, a couple made space for me to sit while we checked into American Airlines and then an employee of the airlines took special care to get me to the plane. Given my numerous injuries, I was then transferred from the everyday wheelchair to the airplane’s specialized chair narrow enough to go down the aisle. With my arms crossed against my chest, legs carefully strapped together, I helpfully suggested that if they had a hockey mask, I’d make a great Hannibal Lecter but, no, they were too busy easing me backwards and apologizing with each bump. I was to be seated in Row 16 and while I could not be afforded the entire row, I was grateful to find my new seat. That’s when it happened again. A man named Brandon from Row 17 stood up and spoke to a young woman named Emma in Row 16.

“I can move over here if you can—”

I watched in disbelief as people began rearranging themselves for my comfort. I was so surprised, I became emotional. I’d been processing so much. There is a time lapse from the moment I hit the tree, then woke – broken and battered. I’d had periods of feeling as though I had a concussed brain, but suddenly watching complete strangers rearrange their own seats for my leg was a beautiful, heartwarming, albeit embarrassing moment. I may never remember all that happened on the mountain when I crashed but I’ll never forget the true heart of Gunnison where everyone is smiling and happy like a bunch of Gunnisonians!

Thank you!