41 YEARS AGO

“I, David, take thee, Linda, to be my wedded wife…”

I can’t wait to hear those words, but I’ve got a few more hours to go. It was just after noon as I finished dictating the last Upper GI exam, pulled down the films and shoved them into the x-ray folder. After scribbling the results on the jacket, I signed my name, pausing for a second. Should I keep the name Olson, or should I take Dave’s name and become Hodgens?

I giggled to myself as I skipped down the hall to Dr. Danny Kim’s office, poking my head in just long enough to say, “I’m outta’ here. Thanks for covering the rest of the afternoon for me. I’ll see you on Monday.” He was the only person who knew I was leaving early that Friday so I could get to the Balboa Naval Medical Center in San Diego by 4 o’clock.

Out the back entrance of the hospital and across the asphalt parking lot I ran, skipping up the stairs two at a time, reaching my apartment out of breath. What was I going to wear? Not that there was much of a choice. The beige knit dress with white trimmed collar and cuffs would have to do. I threw jeans and some tee shirts in a bag and ran back downstairs to my trusty, but ugly, little blue and white Dodge Colt. Two hours later I pulled into the vacant parking lot at the Navy Hospital Chapel.

Whew! Just the way I wanted it…nobody there…and a few minutes to spare. I was primping in the rear-view mirror when I saw Dave hurrying across the parking lot in his Navy Summer Whites uniform—white hat, white shoes, white socks, white pants and white shirt with his Lieutenant insignia. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was the bride.

Later he tells me he was scared spitless that I wouldn’t show up. Why, I don’t know. I’d been wanting to catch him for a few years now, almost since the day we’d started medical school.

We held hands and walked in together for the last counseling session with the Navy Chaplain. After an interminable hour, he led us into the empty Chapel where we stood in front of him as he intoned the familiar words of the marriage ceremony.

“To have and to hold…” Dave’s arm tightened around me. He later tells people that this was the point where I attempted to run out to my car to get the $99 gold wedding band I’d bought for myself. And that a few sentences later, I tried to bolt to get my camera out of the car. “Hold still, Olsie. Let’s get this over with. Besides, who’s going to take pictures? There’s no one here!” Dave says I was nervous…whatever…

“From this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer…” What a high I was on. Five days shy of my twenty-eighth birthday and a bright future ahead of us. In the four and a half years since we met, we’d become inseparable—yet remained independent.

“To love and to cherish” seemed easy enough as we continued our residencies, Dave in San Diego and me in Los Angeles.

But 668 days later, “in sickness and in health,” smashed into us on a railroad track in Germany.  Assuming he would die, Dave ran the fastest run of his life—directly into the path of an oncoming train, attempting to pull me off the track where I’d fallen while getting out of the stalled van. Within seconds, my legs and right arm were severed from my body.

“Till death do us part” was no longer a vague, mumbled phrase near the conclusion of marriage vows. Having cheated death, we now faced a life that looked nothing like we’d planned. Less than two years of able-bodied marriage might now be fifty or sixty years of a caretaker relationship.

Were the promises we made still valid? Or were they binding only if I looked the same way I did on our wedding day?

Dave was young. He could have said, “Sayonara…auf wiedersehen…au revoir…adios.”

Or maybe, “This isn’t what I bargained for.” Or, “I can‘t stand looking at you anymore.” Or, “It’s going to be too much work.”

Instead, without hesitation he said, “I didn‘t marry your arms and your legs. If you can do it, I can do it.” And he has done just that.

For 41 years Dave has lived our wedding vows. I am grateful from the bottom of my heart.