“Don’t worry about getting older. You’re still going to do dumb stuff. It just hurts a little more.”
— A saying that used to be funny.
Even at this age, two of my ‘dumb stuff ’ records are still intact. Neither is worthy of notoriety. But one of them, I seem destined to challenge every so often.
Last week’s attempt resulted in another unscheduled visit for medical attention, replete with all the stereotyped “ yes or no” questions.
Are you allergic to anything?
“Falling on concrete,” I said with a grin and a grimace.
Recent surgeries? “No.” Recent illnesses? “No.” Ever broken any bones?” “No,” I offered. “And that’s a record I hope is not broken today.”
I thought it was funny. Apparently, not everyone appreciates my humor.
Accidents in the last five years?
“You mean prior to the one this morning?”
Have you fallen lately?
“Well, since you brought it up, let’s talk more about this morning.”
Falling was not on my list of things to do that morning. Beautiful day. Sun shining. Summer in full broiler mode.
I had acres of concrete parking lot to walk back to my car. Perfectly level surface. Cup of coffee in one hand and reaching in my pocket for car keys with the other.
That’s when it happened.
For unknown reasons, putting weight on my right leg caused it to respond with, “I don’t think so, not right this minute.”
Natural ref lexes called on my left leg as a backup. “Hey man,” it shouted, “I’m not done with my job over here yet.”
Conf licting forces collided, and gravity sent me rolling on the concrete. Fortunately, my guardian angel working the day shift was Johnny. Johnny on the spot.
I’ve been through several guardian angels. Some, I’ve scared the daylights out of. Others, I’ve worn out or simply caused them to throw up their hands and resign.
Last week’s was right there. Despite torn slacks, scraped elbow and a knee, and coffee stains everywhere, I felt decent standing up. “Dodged another bullet,” I thought.
Then I tried to walk.
No stranger to accidents or emergency rooms, things like wrecks, ladders, lawnmowers and temporary losses of good judgment over the years including a motorcycle wreck — the night a team of angels was riding with me.
The late-night trip from where I worked at the newspaper in Naples to home in Mount Pleasant ended when the bike’s rear tire surrendered its air at about 70 miles per hour. Catapulted me over the handlebars. I took the windshield with me. Meeting the pavement head-on, literally. I still remember thinking, “ This is going leave a mark.”
After surfing the pavement and narrowly missing the tumbling motorcycle, I stood up slowly and looked around. In the middle of a dark fourlane highway where I could see no car lights in either direction, I realized the extent of good fortune that was allowing me to do so.
A quick inventory revealed that I had not simply survived but did so miraculously without gaping holes or missing limbs. Removing my helmet was most sobering. Much of the outer shell on the right side was missing. Ground completely through to the padded lining. Angels again.
Angels were still at work when I walked towards a light at the top of the hill, where I found a friend who provided comfort and a trip to the emergency room. A call was made to family physician Dr. Lee McKellar, who arrived minutes later.
A patient care procedure sadly not seen in today’s health care world.
“What happened,” doc asked while checking me over.
“I had a motorcycle wreck. Near your house on 67.”
‘Why didn’t you come on up to the house?’ He asked.
“Guess a late-night visit to your house just didn’t cross my mind,” I laughed.
Determining that nothing was broken and a shoulder separation was the worst of my injuries, he “harnessed” me back together with plans for a morning visit with an orthopedic surgeon who missed his calling as a comedian.
He outlined the sixweek plan for repair and healing, saying, ‘You’ll be good as new. With one exception … your collar bone will heal with a slight bump on your shoulder. Which shouldn’t be a problem unless you plan on wearing strapless evening gowns.’
The verdict last week was again nothing broken or fractured. I reached up and felt the collar bone bump that’s been there for decades as I waited for providers and insurance companies to haggle things out before providing treatment. A patient care procedure sadly seen far too many times in today’s healthcare world.
This time, it was just concrete rash and hyper-extended muscles and tendons that scream in agony when I sit. Or walk. Or bend. Or lie down. Or think about it.
But thank the Lord, as of last week’s spill, both records remain intact.
I’ve never broken a bone. And I’ve never worn a strapless evening gown.
