For those of you who weren't summoned Monday, we had all the King's horses and all the King's men here to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. (In case there is any doubt at all, I play Humpty in this--and pretty much every other--scenario.)
Early that morning, I had bent down to kiss Quinn good morning on the bottom bunk, and when I stood, I cracked my head on the top bunk, and down I went like the twin towers. (A tribute to my cherished fellow heathens Brandy and Adam, who love a good 9-11 joke.) Quinn says I blacked out for a couple seconds, and when I came to, I could hear them trying to figure out whom to call. Ultimately, (surprise!) they called B, who was home with a gaggle of children and no car. And yet, I assure you, she was the logical choice. So after some logistics the likes of which I will never comprehend (I just know it involved passports, syphoning gas, and I think robbing a convenience store), B arrived to save the day, which, sadly, has become second nature for her. I insisted I was fine, but uneven pupils, slurred speech, and vomiting gave me away and she called the EMTs. Obviously this 20-man brigade staring down at me brought out the absolute best in my confidence level/ability to speak, to say nothing of the fact that I hadn't showered or put on a bra that day, so I was trying to pretend that I looked the same in my cami and yoga pants as (insert cute popular actress) does. Sigh. We refused the deluxe $900 ambulance ride and B drove me instead. Meanwhile, we had more children running around than that compound in Texas, only with less supervision. We immediately set out (and by "we" I mean B) to determine which of our friends we would saddle with this brood, and we ultimately settled on Karen, who I suspect will never answer her phone again. She arrived in 2.5 seconds, and I swear she screeched into the driveway in a cartoon car, ready to be of service, and dressed to the nines, natch. (Please let's not forget that, true to my injury tradition, I was unshowered, mostly undressed, with no make-up, and not even a morsel of wit with which to compensate for my pitiful state. So thanks Karen, for having just gotten your hair done, and for having perfect mascara (which I noticed with my one good eye), and for having the girls nicely displayed, as my own were splayed out all over the floor, much like an octopus' tentacles.)
We were well-advised to go the Silverton Hospital, where a nurse was waiting for us upon arrival. I was in a room within five minutes, and talking with the doc within ten. Mind you, I have no idea what he said, except that I "really got (my) bell rung," lol, and had a major concussion. Then B and I had a misunderstanding about getting a burger, and we headed home in record time to relieve Karen of her zoo-keeping duties.
Meanwhile, it had become unexpectedly sunny and B had a rabbit frying outside so she needed to pack up and leave too. never take my own injuries very seriously, and I always assume I am exaggerating because when I tell stories, I generally go heavy on the hyperbole. You'd think I would have learned when I got cut in half, but I didn't. When B left I started sweeping the floor, and Karen got all authoritative, which I must confess, has changed the dynamic of our relationship, and told me to sit. She made me promise to rest blah blah blah, and enlisted my kids in her Nazi regime, and bid us adieu.
Later that night I went to B's so she could keep an eye on me, which I felt really bad about because she hasn't been feeling so hot herself. I kept her awake the entire night with all my twitching and repeatedly asking if she has a car. She got no, and I mean NO, sleep. I slept the entire day, which was really a slap in the face to B, who hasn't slept since 2005. I'm still really dizzy, and if my speech was a Scrabble hand, my tiles would be blank, except for one B. Maybe a G. And I would just put the on the board all by themselves, unconnected, and hope that you would know what I meant. Sweet sweet B, she knows what I mean. Her text to me this morning was, "Good morning, you little rung bell." Hee hee.
So the doc said I could feel dizzy for a few weeks, and have the blurred vision that long too. I'm taking a gorgeous vicodin/oxycodone cocktail for the pain, and once again, I am so extraordinarily blessed to have my people around me, offering everything they have. (Getting emotional) It wasn't so long ago that I had the emotional/social aptitude of a rock, and valued relationships right up there with compost. These days, I am surrounded by the highest quality men and women friends an old stone like me could ever hope for. Seriously. You guys bring tears to my eyes. (Perhaps in part because I'm listening to Air Supply.) I'd be some shivering rock (with a concussion) without my primo posse. So thank you guys, from my sedimentary core, and my rung bell.
Jesus I may have gone overboard on the vicodin...ya think?