Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!
February 13, 2008 · Print This Article
Last night was a comedy of errors, really. Except sad. And very painful. Lots of pain. But a comedy, nonetheless. Bringing the funny.
It all began when I slipped on the iced-over concrete steps outside of our house while on my way to the mailbox. I had keys in one hand and envelopes in the other and it all happened so fast, so I didn’t even have time to catch myself. So, THUD, thud, thud. Then pain. Scratch that. I meant to say PAIN. Yet, even through the haze of agony, I automatically did that thing you do when you fall. You know? That thing? When you look frantically around to see if anyone saw you fall, because 1) embarrassing!, and 2) if anyone DID see it is imperative that you do the “I’m all right! Ta da! Nothing to see here!” thing, and 3) EMBARRASSING. Hmm. Why do people do that, anyway? And by “people” I mean “me.” When a weakly uttered, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” would be so totally appropriate, not to mention awesomely pathetic? Really.
But, I digress. Luckily I was able to pick myself up, and– clutching my back– managed to stagger back through my front door before passing out. Coincidentally, Alli was watching Madagscar and was just at the part where Alex the Lion has been nailed with tranquilizer darts and is in a psychedelic delirium. I know, right? It lent itself well to my own confused thinking during my dramatic collapse and loss of consciousness. Mood music, if you will. Hey, mad props on the timing, Fate! You bizzyotch.
When I came to, TD was on the phone with 911. I guess when I came staggering through the front door babbling about how I thought I’d broken my tailbone and to “call DAD!” he insisted on calling 911 first. He apparently told me (several times, allegedly), “Okay, I’ll call Dad, but 911 FIRST!” At the time, 911 meant nothing to me, just random numbers he kept throwing around. Like 12. Or 7. I couldn’t understand why he was so fixated on those stupid numbers when clearly I needed him to call TGIM. I’m pretty proud of the kid, actually. He stayed calm, followed the directions of the 911 dispatcher, and took care of his utterly freaked-out sisters. Of course, the four blankets he and the girls ripped off the beds and threw over me may have been overkill on the whole “Keep her warm!” directive, but still… proud!
So… I got my first ambulance ride out of the experience. But I have to say it wasn’t as fun as one would think. Probably because of the neck brace, the backboard, the IV, and the excruciating pain. Probably.
At the hospital they took x-rays (after three hours) and told me that while I didn’t appear to have broken anything, my coccyx was badly bruised (along with my dignity) and I will have to check back with my doctor on Friday, in case of internal bruising or a herniated lumbar disc or some such nonsense. You know what? Herniated is a funny word. HER-NEE-AAAY-TED. See? Funny.
After about six hours in the emergency room, they finally decided to discharge me. Yes, even though it was after midnight. And TGIM and the kiddos were at home in bed (thinking I was staying the night). But the emergency room was swamped and they needed the bed, so there you go. Unfortunately, in their haste, they did not take the time to do the little things. You know, like check my blood pressure? Which is a good idea when a patient tells you repeatedly that she has low blood pressure, and you decide to hop her up on Percocet anyway (on an empty stomach, no less), and then leave her laid out on a stretcher for six hours.
Because when you pull out her IV and point her toward the exit, and she decides to take a pit stop at the emergency room bathroom (IV? six hours? duh?), no good can come of it. None. Zilch. And wouldn’t you know it? No matter how sternly I told myself that I would NOT pass out– no, absolutely NOT, under no circumstances, I am not even JOKING!– the next thing I knew I was still coming to with my cheek pressed against the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. The kicker? I apparently twisted my ankle on the way down, just before I broke my fall with my face. Of course, having been unconscious during the fall, I didn’t feel a thing, so that was a mercy. Then again, I feel it now. Which… no fun at all? And while the sprained ankle seems reasonable to concerned friends and family, how do I explain the bruises and swelling on my face, when I purportedly fell on my bum?
Oh, I guess I just did. Sa-WEET.
Hey. You know what else is a funny word? Percocet. Ha! It’s loopy doopy. Percocet…