Because I’ve been walking around–well, sort of walking around–on crutches these past couple of weeks and people are squinting at me & saying, “Wait, you hurt your leg AGAIN???”, I thought I should explain.
Yes, I hurt my leg again. No, the other leg. Yes, it was something stupid. No, a dog & beer bottles were not involved this time. And, yes, you are correct that I’m a klutz & definitely should watch where I’m going. Thank you for your concern.
Also–daughters are The Best. The. Best.
But before I tell you why that is true: My current leg situation is because, at home one day, I walked into the leg of a chair that has been in the same spot for several years but apparently time-traveled into invisibility at the exact second I passed by. That’s the only explanation I have for walking into a chair I’d managed to avoid a million other times. (Unless you have a better story & then, please, may I borrow it?) Anyway, the sweet folks at the emergency clinic said I’d broken the something-or-other part of my foot & I should stay off of it for several weeks via crutches and this lovely boot thing & we’ll file your insurance & please have a nice day.
But the previous leg situation lives on because of this photo.
That is me with some more sweet folks loading me into an ambulance at my mom’s house in home-of-Bonaroo Manchester, Tennessee. But you’re probably looking at Younger Daughter, on the left, and wondering why she’s making a rude gesture & to whom she is making it. In reverse order, the answers are my brother/her uncle & because he had asked us to “smile for the camera.” And also because she loves her mama & felt her uncle was somehow responsible for what had transpired. Which is this:
- Younger Daughter & I drove up to my mom’s house for a weekend birthday celebration. It was late afternoon & getting dark.
- Everyone always brings adult beverages to my mom’s house because if we didn’t there wouldn’t be any.
- My mom also doesn’t think dogs should be in her house.
- My brother, therefore, had left his dog, Roxie, in the mudroom/back-entryway.
- My brother also had barricaded the doorway leading out of the mudroom/back-entryway by placing a walnut dining-room chair on its side in said doorway.
- My brother also had thoughtfully turned out the lights because Roxie likes it better that way & we’re trying to be environmentally & sustainably thoughtful.
- I walked into the mudroom & didn’t turn on the lights because I was carrying six-packs of beer bottles because of course that’s the most important thing to bring inside the house first and I also was talking to Roxie & Younger Daughter.
- I immediately didn’t see the chair, fell over it & found myself on the floor with Younger Daughter saying, “My god, Mom, YOUR BONE IS STICKING OUT.”
It wasn’t my bone–there was just some normal body stuff that apparently appears when you fall over something while carrying six-packs of beer bottles & slice open your leg with one of the bottle’s metal caps. I spent the remainder of the weekend with my leg propped up and recovering from a nasty hangover because–and this is where the mother-daughter bond makes another appearance–I’d stupidly told the ambulance & emergency-room folks that “No, I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt at all.” because that’s what you say when people ask you how you are & so, consequently, my on-a-scale-of-one-to-10 pain level was recorded as being so low that I didn’t need pain meds. Which was a big ol’ lie because it really really really hurt. But, Younger Daughter, with impressive presence of mind & because she is awesome, had accurately assessed the situation & brought my big tote bag to the ER with the little boxes of wine I always pack (see No. 2 above) so I
sneaked gulps between visits by attentive medical people administered my own pain meds quickly & thoroughly–so well, in fact, that I had TWO reasons for walking out of the ER unsteadily & then I also promptly got sick in my brother’s truck.
But the good news is that I have wonderful daughters who stick up for their mama & take excellent care of her when needed. Happy Mother’s Day!
I refer to the tripping over things as a “Van Dyke”. BTW, How is your mama and them?
Joe–Yes, of course! But he did it much more gracefully.–Cathy