|I'm serving Bad Fortune a restraining order
||[Dec. 12th, 2009|08:34 am]
If you read my posts, then you know that I am certain that bad fortune follows me, well, like Percy does. Velcro dog. Maybe that's it, maybe bad fortune is just needy. sigh. |
(I spent a little bit of time this morning trying to come up with a stalking metaphor, but they kept going creepily bad. When you arrive at Mark David Chapman, you have to say to yourself "Abandon Metaphor!" and go in another direction. And surely I could come up with something better than Bad Fortune having the needy velcro-ness of a greyhound -- although the image is growing on me -- it really freaking hurts to sit in a chair, so that's what I'm going with.)
Pecked to death by ducks, death by a million paper cuts, Job's got nothing on me, oh, I have a veritable bushelful of them. But this, this one is breaking the rules of engagement, Bad Fortune.
So, I'm walking the dog when I get home from work Thursday night. It's dark already and I always take him on a quick five minute walk, still in work clothes, then come back, change, get dinner started, or some quick chores done and head out again for a longer walk.
And I'm heading up the hill, Percy in tow, and trying to make a quick job of it, because it's freezing, my long black coat is not great against a cold wind and we've got company coming over so I want to get back and do some picking up.
Suddenly I find myself falling. Now, that's not uncommon. I have an unnatural lack of grace, now aided and abetted by wonky ankles, a bad knee, but I've always had a propensity for falling. I joke that gravity or the earth's rotation catches me by suprise....but really, it's not a joke. In compensation, though, I've learned to fall and fall well. The key is to not fight it...at all. Once you're going, just go. I start to trip and my first instinct is to tuck and roll. Failing that, I just go limp. Oh, I go down, but I rarely hurt myself. Hell, I trained myself to fall off a trotting horse and once, not on purpose, fell off a cantering horse into two forward rolls, came up running and was able to grab the reins. Of course, there was that time I fell off in front of the horse...but I was unharmed until he tried to jump over me...planting one of his hind feet on my calf muscle.
And honestly, that's what I was doing Thursday night. I was heading straight for the pavement. Screw it, I've got a heavish coat on, gloves, they'll protect me from road rash. I remember trying to twist to the side a little, since your shoulder can take the road better than your face...but something went wrong. I have a vague remembrance of my heel getting caught maybe in the hem of my coat...I dunno. Instead of my feet giving up the earth like they usually do, I wound up coming down hard on my left foot, with a jarring, twisting impact, and then I was face down on the pavement.
And I lay there, with my leg on fire and thought, ah, now I know why football players just lay there on the field. They're hoping someone will come along with a bullet to the back of their skull and put them out of their misery. I know I was. Except, as soon as I regained some semblance of thought beyond "Expletive, Expletive mother of expletive, Expletive, son of expletive, Incestuous expletive relationship, Expletive" I thought, gee, laying in the middle of the street, during rush hour, in the dark, in a black coat...this is how corpses happen.
So, I thought about moving and my whole body was still vibrating in a fury of pain and trying to twitch a limb brought on new waves of pain that I, potty-mouth that I am, didn't even have words for. F-it, run me over, it can't hurt more than this.
But, then out of the corner of my eye I saw Percy. Standing there, worried look in his eye, shivering from the cold, with his little geezer butt sinking to the ground, since he's reached the point where if he stands still for any length of time, his hind legs just give out. So, he's standing there, his bony but collapsing, staggering sideways a bit, hind end sinking again, shivering.
So I crawl to the side of the road on my hands and knees in a blaze of agony and stagger upwards, using the curb and bushes and anything else I can grab. Thinking, now would be a good time for a neighbor to look out the window...but no, we're always all up in each other's business, but it's cold and dark and the only way I'm going to get my poor dog home is if I do it. So I take a stagger step, try not to throw up, take another one, try not to throw up and make my way down the street. I figure out that if I stagger sort of sideways, I can drag my left foot along the pavement, which hurts like a sonofabitch, but is nothing compared to the pain when I tried to actually lift ia millimeter off the ground. Plus, a couple of inches at a time is the limit of my forward motion.
So there I am, shuffle-staggering, in extreme slow motion, down the street, moaning and panting...thinking well, maybe someone will notice and I can ask them to walk Percy home and then come back and put me out of my misery. But of course, I live on Perry Avenue, home of Scary Perry and for all anyone knew I was getting my zombie practice in early.
And I get home and crawled up the front steps on all fours. And get the dog into the house. And collapse face first on the sofa until the nausea subsided. And eventually got myself pulled together enough to evaluate -- the ankle, whose ligament I've torn twice is actually okay! And bones, bones are fine. Hamstring on the other hand, totally f'd.
And I'm healing, but golly, does it still hurt when I forget to take babysteps, or try to go up the stairs anyway but backward. And toilet seats...are hard.
You may insert the litany of how I was saving yesterday's half day of PTO for Christmas shopping, not for taking the world's slowest shower, getting dressed and getting to work for a very important contract negotiation -- thankfully a conference call -- and then slowly making my way back home. I'll spare you the details of all of the things I really needed to do today -- most of which require moving at a decent clip, or maneuvering, or carrying things, or even sitting at a desk chair like I am now -- but frankly, I've been sitting on a desk chair for twenty minutes now and it's time to head back to the bed and the bag of frozen peas.
On the other hand, I may actually get Christmas cards out this year. BECAUSE I CAN'T FREAKING DO ANYTHING ELSE!
Sorry, that just leaked out...