April 12, 2005, started out as any typical day for me. I got up, got dressed, and got myself to work. The day passed without incident and when five o’clock finally arrived I was happy to be heading home. I remembered as I walked in my door that I had not called my father that day to see how his motorcycle trip to the Texas Hill Country was going. I called his cell phone and Dad didn’t answer, but his voice mail picked up and I left a message that I was thinking of him and I hoped he was having a wonderful time with his Gold Wing group.
While on the phone with Dad’s cell, I heard my own ringing in the next room and after hanging up went to see whose call I had missed. I saw I had a voice mail message waiting for me and called in to retrieve it. The message was from my mother and I could tell immediately by her tone there was something wrong. “Jennifer, call me as soon as you get this. It’s important.” Even though I was grown and had been on my own for quite awhile, that tone still brought to mind thoughts of, “Oh, no… what I did do this time?” I returned her call and after not being able to reach her on her cell or at home after several attempts, I began to worry.
Finally after many, many repeated tries I was able to reach her. Mom told me she had gotten a call that Dad had wrecked and was at the hospital in San Antonio with some broken ribs. I have to say, I believe I inherited my own accident-proneness from my father and I thought to myself, “Silly Daddy, went off and had a motorcycle wreck and got himself bruised and banged up.” Mom at the time did not have much more information than that about his condition. We discussed plans of driving down and possibly spending the weekend and what would be the most comfortable way to transport him back home with his fractured ribs. We would head down in a day or two, not feeling any urgency or rush at that point.
The next morning as I was getting ready for my day I received another phone call from Mom. The update left me concerned that things were far more serious than I had previously thought. Mom said Dad was in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) at UTHSC in San Antonio and that she knew the room number but didn’t know anything more than that. Mom said because of the new HIPAA laws (privacy act) the hospital wouldn’t reveal much to her until they could confirm she was next of kin and “authorized” to receive the information. At that time all they could tell her was the ICU room number and that his condition was listed as “critical.” I could hear the frustration and panic in her voice. We now began to discuss how to get there as soon as possible and how to go about finding the fastest flight out. We would worry about how to get Dad home once we got there and could see for ourselves the shape he was in.
I told Mom I would take care of the travel arrangements and she would need to schedule a sitter for her elderly mother, have a neighbor pick up the mail and newspaper, and feed the animals. That day is now a blur in my memory as I sit here and try to recall all the events as they unfolded for us. I went into work and informed my supervisors of the situation and that I might have to leave sometime during that day. I work in a hospital with many wonderful doctors and nurses and luckily they were very understanding and could answer any medical questions I had. I also contacted a travel agent who was very compassionate and took care of all the flight and hotel arrangements. She found a perfect hotel within walking distance of the hospital, and thought of conveniences such as access to a washer and dryer, transport to and from the airport and hospital, and other amenities we had not even thought of.

Throughout the day Mom would call me at work with new bits of information or to ask a question. I put to good use my access to medical staff, and was never been more thankful to be working in the biomedical field. Each call painted a more dispiriting picture in my mind. When I received the last call asking if she should consent to an epidural being placed in Dad’s spine to relieve the pain and discomfort, I knew it was bad.
The next morning Mom and I flew out to San Antonio. I have no memory of that trip or arriving in San Antonio now. It’s all a whirlwind of emotions that fog up my brain when I try to remember. We arrived at the hospital around three p.m., during a block of time that was between visiting hours. The operator on the phone seemed as though she would not let us in until four when the next round of visiting hours started. I know I was frantically trying to explain to her that we had just arrived and had yet to see my father when a kind-faced nurse named Carmen came through the doors and asked if we were there for her “John Doe.” “John Doe?” we asked. Carmen said that all accident patients were labeled “John Doe” until a family member identified them.
Carmen led us through the maze of hallways stopping outside a wing of the hospital to explain what we would be seeing when we passed through those doors. She began to explain the various tubes and monitors that were hooked up to him, and that he would most likely be unresponsive due to the heavy sedation. Mom and I grabbed each other, took a deep breath, and then stepped into what seemed like a terrible nightmare.
Mom and I were not at all prepared for the sight in front of us. My father, my hero, was lying in a hospital bed with more wires and tubes coming out of him than I had seen inside my computer CPU at home. Everywhere I looked, monitors beeped, lights blinked, and somewhere in the background was the constant “swooshing” of the ventilator. I stood cemented to the floor, but Mom walked up and said, “Hello, Pumpkin, we’re here now.” and it was the first time I had ever seen tears flow from my father’s eyes. The doctors then informed us of Dad’s injuries. He had broken virtually every rib, had punctured both of his lungs, collapsing his left lung. He had fractured many of his vertebrae, and his entire left arm and back were one huge solid black bruise. He had a ventilator in place and would not be able to communicate with us during those few times he would actually be awake.
That day I began to learn how much of a family Gold Wing riders truly are. Hours later back in our hotel room, in a complete state of shock and exhaustion, we received non-stop phone calls of care and concern from the Chapter LA-C family from Shreveport. The outpouring of love, support and remarkable kindness touched us deeply, but was only the beginning.
The next day, Spencer Smith, from the local Chapter TX-H in San Antonio came by the hospital room and introduced himself to us and offered his unwavering support and assistance. The Shreveport Chapter had contacted the San Antonio Chapter and the San Antonio folks had responded in multitude. That first week alone we received cards of sympathy and prayers from the San Antonio Chapter participants, calls from many Members offering every kind of assistance, and ceaseless acts of generosity.
Armondo Ynostrosa brought by a substantial gift card that could be used in the hospital cafeteria downstairs. Spencer Smith and his wife, Anita, took us out to dinner almost weekly and later brought us a CD player so that Dad’s favorite music could be playing in the room. Chapter H’s C/D, Charles Fleming, and treasurer Ray Wolford met us for dinner one evening. Another lovely couple, Charles & Candy Brown, actually wandered around the hospital cafeteria one afternoon asking people randomly if they knew Dianne and Jennifer Rogers until they found us. Charlie & Candy prayed with us for Dad’s recovery and opened their hearts and their home to us on numerous occasions.
After being in San Antonio for two weeks, I had to return home to get back to work and to help manage my parents’ household affairs. It was heartbreaking to have to leave. My father wasn’t doing well and most days he was completely unresponsive. Mom was being strong, but I wanted to be there for her as well as to see my father begin to find his way to the road of recovery. The only comfort I had in leaving Mom alone in San Antonio was knowing she now had family there, the Chapter H participants who were calling daily and stopping by the hospital regularly to check on my father and to make sure Mom was holding up under the strain. Mom had made genuine friends that I knew would be there to take her away and distract her when needed, to offer support and a shoulder to lean on, and to watch over her when I could not.
Spencer Smith and his family acted as our own personal chauffeurs and graciously made sure I had a ride every weekend as I flew back and forth from Shreveport. Mom spent both her birthday and Mother’s Day in San Antonio, and the Chapter H family made sure she had a lovely dinner and a night out.
Not only did Chapter H rise up to the call, but local Chapter C riders from Shreveport were making the journey down during the week to be with Mom & Dad. Gary & Terri Miller not only drove down to San Antonio and took Mom and me out to a fabulous Mexican dinner (and much-needed margaritas), but also made the drive to Longview to help me catch one of my flights down for the weekend. I had offers of rides to the airport, or even the entire distance to San Antonio (a five-hour drive) every weekend from numerous riders.
One very special member, Buddy Love, used his frequent flyer miles to purchase two weekends’ worth of tickets to San Antonio, saving us a great deal of expense. Ray Hamiter, the Chapter Director, and his wife, Sharon, sent out daily e-mails to the other Chapter particpants sharing Dad’s progress and sending their love, support and prayers to us. Every day Mom received stacks of cards and letters, many from people we had yet to meet, but who loved us as Gold Wing family just the same.
For over 10 weeks Dad remained in San Antonio. Many times during the first eight of those weeks I came home unsure if Dad would ever be returning home. Finally the last two weeks we began to see an improvement, and once that corner was turned Dad’s condition improved exponentially by the day.
Such a joyous time! Not only were Mom and I praising God, but our Gold Wing family from both Chapters was truly sharing in our elation. The excitement behind the words in the e-mails, cards and letters was palpable. For weeks we had seen support and prayer for Dad’s recovery, now we were seeing the miracle of the faith we all shared, and everyone joined in praise.
Dad arrived back in Shreveport June 26, 2005. Members of the Gold Wing Chapter C family greeted him at the airport and later welcomed him home officially at their monthly meeting. Mom and I had the Gold Wing family, and supporters from G&C Honda that also supported us during this ordeal, over for a celebratory dinner. Ray Hamiter asked Mom and me to write down the extraordinary kindness and remarkable people we found in San Antonio through the Gold Wing Road Riders Association. I truly know Mom and I could not have made it through this time without each and every one of them.
They say every cloud has its silver lining. I believe in our case that lining is gold. Our many thanks and unending appreciation for the Gold Wing organization and the family it brought to us.