07-15-2020, 05:58 PM
The Expanding Sore Ribs Club
Last weekend, LCF and I socialized with some writer friends via ZOOM. We touched base on many things, but the topic that dominated was Doug's recent bike accident. He was biking home when he took a spill. He's 65, by the way. Getting up, he seemed to be all right, just banged up some, and he walked the bike the rest of the way home.
But that night he got to hurting more, and by morning his chest was hurting fierce, and he was having trouble breathing. So his wife called an ambulance. They gave him some badly needed painkiller and took him to the hospital, where he was diagnosed with two cracked ribs.
That was a couple weeks ago, and his recovery has been slow. His wife Lisa had to learn to work through his intermittent moans coming from the bedroom. But he's on the mend now, and still hoping to retire in November, though it will require them moving out of Oakland to a more affordable place.
Anyway, that was their first ambulance experience, which set me to wondering what my first ambulance experience will be. I'm fast approaching 70, and though generally fit and strong, my hips are trash and make me incredibly clumsy. There's no flexibility in them, making me even more vulnerable because my body still believes it can do things it can't. It's been years since my last good fall, and I'm way overdue. When it comes, speaking realistically, it could be an ambulance occasion.
Fast forward to the following night (Monday). LCF and I go for a walk at dusk for a first attempt at seeing the comet. We venture onto the grounds of Crittendon Middle School, which if I'm not mistaken is where Stacy went to school. They have a nice new track, which I wish I could use, but my running days are long over. As dusk settles in, we wander about the infield, having a mostly clear view of the northwestern sky. But there's a few trees, and buildings, and we can't be sure if they're blocking the comet. It gets darker and darker still, and the few runners dwindle until we're almost alone. I doubt we're supposed to be there after dark. The field isn't meant for night activities, for sure. We keep moving around in the infield, hoping to see something, but no luck. Then LCF points to some shadowy bleachers outside the track and suggests we use them to gain some height.
So that's where we head, LCF leading the way, with me stopping to look back a couple times. I've just turned forward to look at LCF when it happens. She's past the track, on a bit of sidewalk, and very close to the bleachers. She looks back at the northwestern sky just as she steps off the walk into a spot of blackness.
Into a hole.
She stumbles forward, trying to catch her balance, only to accelerate into a head-first sprawl towards the corner of the bottom-most bleacher. She hits it directly, horrifically, and goes down hard with a groan.
I rush over to check on her, wondering if I need to call an ambulance. I didn't bring my phone. Meanwhile, she's slowly getting up, and maybe I should have told her to stay put, but I'm in a bit of shock. And she gets up. And she's hurting, especially her ribs. But she says she's okay. Slowly, unbelievably, she continues onward to the bleachers, and we climb them, but they don't gain us anything. And eventually we walk home.
That night and the next day I have these little stifled outbursts of cursing under my breath. It's something I do, okay? But more than usual right then. "What's wrong?" LCF asks me a couple times. I tell her nothing, just muttering.
But I'm seeing that horrific fall all over again, accelerating straight at that sharp corner of bleacher. Headfirst. That could have been so devastating. It should have been devastating. But she seems to be okay. From her cuts and bruises we've pieced together how she likely hit. There's a deep depression/cut on her left forearm near the wrist. That's what caught the very corner of the bleacher. This forced her forearm into her chest as she fell, momentarily compressing ribs with all her weight (she's still very sore there). I vividly remember her putting a hand to the ground to further catch her weight -- an ideal way to shatter the wrist or forearm. But her wrist and forearm are okay. She also has a deep-purple bruise four inches in diameter high up on her right thigh. That might have been where she made a secondary impact on the bleacher corner.
I'm still incredulous that she's okay.
And very very disappointed that we didn't get to see the comet.
The next night, of course, we're thwarted once again, this time by the theft of the catalytic converter.
P.S. I've been very critical of movies that attribute some supernatural happenings to the appearance of a comet. I remain critical of those movies, though perhaps less so these days.
Last weekend, LCF and I socialized with some writer friends via ZOOM. We touched base on many things, but the topic that dominated was Doug's recent bike accident. He was biking home when he took a spill. He's 65, by the way. Getting up, he seemed to be all right, just banged up some, and he walked the bike the rest of the way home.
But that night he got to hurting more, and by morning his chest was hurting fierce, and he was having trouble breathing. So his wife called an ambulance. They gave him some badly needed painkiller and took him to the hospital, where he was diagnosed with two cracked ribs.
That was a couple weeks ago, and his recovery has been slow. His wife Lisa had to learn to work through his intermittent moans coming from the bedroom. But he's on the mend now, and still hoping to retire in November, though it will require them moving out of Oakland to a more affordable place.
Anyway, that was their first ambulance experience, which set me to wondering what my first ambulance experience will be. I'm fast approaching 70, and though generally fit and strong, my hips are trash and make me incredibly clumsy. There's no flexibility in them, making me even more vulnerable because my body still believes it can do things it can't. It's been years since my last good fall, and I'm way overdue. When it comes, speaking realistically, it could be an ambulance occasion.
Fast forward to the following night (Monday). LCF and I go for a walk at dusk for a first attempt at seeing the comet. We venture onto the grounds of Crittendon Middle School, which if I'm not mistaken is where Stacy went to school. They have a nice new track, which I wish I could use, but my running days are long over. As dusk settles in, we wander about the infield, having a mostly clear view of the northwestern sky. But there's a few trees, and buildings, and we can't be sure if they're blocking the comet. It gets darker and darker still, and the few runners dwindle until we're almost alone. I doubt we're supposed to be there after dark. The field isn't meant for night activities, for sure. We keep moving around in the infield, hoping to see something, but no luck. Then LCF points to some shadowy bleachers outside the track and suggests we use them to gain some height.
So that's where we head, LCF leading the way, with me stopping to look back a couple times. I've just turned forward to look at LCF when it happens. She's past the track, on a bit of sidewalk, and very close to the bleachers. She looks back at the northwestern sky just as she steps off the walk into a spot of blackness.
Into a hole.
She stumbles forward, trying to catch her balance, only to accelerate into a head-first sprawl towards the corner of the bottom-most bleacher. She hits it directly, horrifically, and goes down hard with a groan.
I rush over to check on her, wondering if I need to call an ambulance. I didn't bring my phone. Meanwhile, she's slowly getting up, and maybe I should have told her to stay put, but I'm in a bit of shock. And she gets up. And she's hurting, especially her ribs. But she says she's okay. Slowly, unbelievably, she continues onward to the bleachers, and we climb them, but they don't gain us anything. And eventually we walk home.
That night and the next day I have these little stifled outbursts of cursing under my breath. It's something I do, okay? But more than usual right then. "What's wrong?" LCF asks me a couple times. I tell her nothing, just muttering.
But I'm seeing that horrific fall all over again, accelerating straight at that sharp corner of bleacher. Headfirst. That could have been so devastating. It should have been devastating. But she seems to be okay. From her cuts and bruises we've pieced together how she likely hit. There's a deep depression/cut on her left forearm near the wrist. That's what caught the very corner of the bleacher. This forced her forearm into her chest as she fell, momentarily compressing ribs with all her weight (she's still very sore there). I vividly remember her putting a hand to the ground to further catch her weight -- an ideal way to shatter the wrist or forearm. But her wrist and forearm are okay. She also has a deep-purple bruise four inches in diameter high up on her right thigh. That might have been where she made a secondary impact on the bleacher corner.
I'm still incredulous that she's okay.
And very very disappointed that we didn't get to see the comet.
The next night, of course, we're thwarted once again, this time by the theft of the catalytic converter.
P.S. I've been very critical of movies that attribute some supernatural happenings to the appearance of a comet. I remain critical of those movies, though perhaps less so these days.