"A story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end... but not necessarily in that order." ~ Jean-Luc GodardThis story starts at the middle. Although I wish it started at the end, I'm sure that there will be more to tell in the future, but since the future isn't here yet... well, you see the dilemma. The real beginning would be when I was still a child, but then, that story has already been told. So we begin with the middle.
First, you must be able to visualize this scene without the snow. Yes, it is quite cool here currently, in the low 60's and damp and drizzling, but there is definitely no snow. In fact, last Friday, when the event happened, it was the hottest day of the year so far with temperatures reaching the high 90's. I could have taken a picture of the mailbox this week, but I have been avoiding the object.
With Mom having her knee surgery and my brother coming into town on the same day and with me, still looking at the last of the house possibilities.... June 4th was a blur. The 5th, 6th, and 7th weren't much better and with the whirlwind house search and decision and negotiations that tied one's stomach in a knot and then inspections, loan applications, power of attorney and the strange disconnection of Stephen buying a house... well, by Friday I was pooped out! I took Stephen to the airport for his early morning flight back to Washington DC and then on to Vienna and anticipated a few hours in bed. However, my dad had quite a bit of stuff to take to the rehab facility for my mom, so I went along to help.
Several hours later, we arrived back home and I was hurrying to get all the animals fed and off to Newport News to meet up with Nyssa. I walked down the driveway to the mailbox and somehow, the tip of my tennis shoe got stuck or my feet were flying too low, or something.... as I grabbed to open the mailbox, I lost my balance and though I stumbled half way down the street to the neighbor's house, trying to get my feet back under me... I fell.... hard. Actually, I think I fell on the curb rather than on the street itself, but my right knee hit, as did both hands. It was one of those "trip over the flower pot and go sprawling" moments (an earlier middle part of the story). Instant sharp ..... PAIN! My hands are scuffed and I know my knee is scuffed although it didn't tear the jeans!
My 79 year old father hobbles down the drive and wants to help me up.... right! I didn't want him down too as I knew I couldn't get both of us up again and right at that moment I just wanted to sit and catch my breath. Of course, a neighbor saw the commotion and came over to ask if I was OK. I finally got the courage to get up and thankfully was able to stand on my leg, so no broken bones. But, the knee was a bit crunchy or perhaps crackle is a better description... but only if you pressed on it. I knew ice was in order but it was time for me to drive to Newport News.
I found what was called a cold pack in the freezer. As I got in the car, I put it around the knee and tried to secure it with the velcro strips. Unfortunately, one of them was stuck and when pulled, it ripped the material and suddenly a thousand little white 1mm pellets started flowing from the hole into the floorboard of my van. So that was out. By this time it was rush hour so the trip took longer than expected and the knee was throbbing. I got a bag of ice at the restaurant and kept it elevated there then hit it with more ice when I got back home.
Saturday and Sunday were pretty bad... ice and heat and ice and heat and foot up. Monday, it felt almost like new and I wore a knee brace to the new house for the termite inspection. However, the deep muscle bruising has now arrived along with the swelling and sausage toes. From the purple, red, blue, yellow and other assorted mottled colors, it looks like the lateral calf muscles are banged up and the subcutaneous tissue of the shin, as well as the lower inner thigh. The knee area is also quite the colorful mix. It is now beginning to itch... this usually means it is starting to get better.
You know there is something fishy about this whole thing. When Mom had her other knee done a year and a half ago, Dad fell the Friday after she went from the hospital to rehab. Of course he hit on his buttock and had a horrible bruise from his waist to his knee. (Lost his balance and sat on the edge of a ceramic coated metal bedpan he was retrieving from the attic to take to Mom.... don't ask.) Now, on Friday after she is transferred from the hospital to the same rehab for her second knee, I fall and bang myself up....yes, fishy.
All I can say is... I'm glad she only has two knees. I'm not sure what would happen to Dad and I if she had three! As for the rest of the middle and beginning of the "stumbling saga that is my life". Well, it will just have to wait.... I've got to get this foot up!
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