Michelle and I had a lovely, lazy day yesterday on our quick getaway weekend, with a little shopping, a little sightseeing, and a couple strong restaurant picks. But the day started off with another reminder of the times, making two of them in two days related to the same bed and breakfast.

Our room is up on the second floor along with five other rooms. Access to the street is down a narrow staircase to a glass entrance door just past the final step. Yesterday around 8:30am, I’d run down to get some supplies from the truck and, opening the door to head back up, I saw an attractive twenty-ish couple coming down the stairs. She was first, petite with long black hair, awkwardly carrying two suitcases. He was right behind, tall with a short, neat beard, holding both rails and carefully limping down each stair step holding his right leg rigid and stuff. It looked like he couldn’t bend his right knee, like it was paining him, as he was favoring the left leg.

Of course, I held the door for them, and helped her push the bags through the narrow entry-way out onto the landing.

As they exited, I lightly remarked to the guy, “looks like you got a broken wing there.” He shrugged and sheepishly replied, “yeah, normally I would be carrying the stuff, but I hurt my leg in Mexico.” These days, any type of injury greatly interests me, I can’t help it, so I politely asked, “What happened?”

He lit up. “Oh man, it’s so weird. Check this out.” He pulled up his jeans on the right side, exposing his calf. “They took eight inches out of my lower leg.” His calf was half its normal size, thin as a forearm, with a shiny, two-inch-wide scar running most of the way down, right where his calf muscle used to be.

“Yikes,” I exclaimed, “how’d you do THAT?” He shrugged and said, “They have no idea. We were at a resort in Mexico last year to celebrate our engagement, and both my kidneys failed. And it affected my leg somehow. They told me I had no choice but to get the surgery.” He added, gloomily, “But sometimes I wonder.”

I shook my head ruefully. “That’s awful. Do they know why your kidneys failed? Did you have kidney problems or something?” He immediately said, “no. It came out of the clear blue. They think I might’ve scratched my foot on a rock or something. But I’ve been thinking about all those little stands outside the resort where they give you free shots and stuff. I wonder if maybe somebody put something in my shot.”

His words electrified me, like someone touched me with a live wire. I felt an urge to gush, “I’m pretty sure they DID put something in the shots, but not THOSE shots.” Of course, I didn’t say that. Instead I sympathetically said, “I’m really sorry to hear that. I hope you’re through the worst of it.”

His face darkened. “Well, now I’m dealing with the worst part. I’m having neurological problems. I get these sharp pains running down my leg and they can’t figure that out either. Last month I had a surgery to lengthen my Achilles’ tendon but it hasn’t helped any. I’ve got about a dozen doctors now.” We chatted a little more and I said I would pray for him and went upstairs.

I never asked him THE question. I didn’t have to: Kidney failure, neurological problems, and probably some kind of clot in his leg. Of COURSE he got the shots. And I guarantee nobody’s reported his injuries to VAERS. The entire trajectory of that young couple’s lives has been completely changed now.

I spent a not insubstantial amount of time yesterday wondering how many young couples like them are limping around these days.