Last Friday I fell off the curb.
Skinned both knees.
Twisted my ankle.
I guess since the concussion, my balance and depth perception are still not quite what they should be.
At least I didn't tear holes in the knees of my pants.
Why is it that when we fall in public, we feel so embarrassed we won't admit we are hurt? Our school's dean of instruction happened to be standing nearby and ran to help me. A young man, a student, helped me get back on my feet. Both of them wanted to help me back into the building, carry my things, get me a drink of water. But I kept saying, oh no, I'm fine--even though obviously I was *not* fine. My knees hurt. My ankle was swelling rapidly. I had to lean on someone to get to the car when Wick came to pick me up. But I just would not admit that anything was wrong.
Don't we do the same thing to God? I know I do. I get depressed, sad, angry, and I won't ask for His help. I want to do it all by myself. His hand is outstretched, and I push it aside. Sometimes, He just takes hold anyway; He takes charge, straightens everything out, puts me back on my feet again when I am strong enough. And I am so thankful that He is always there. Like my friends who saw me fall, He may be laughing, but He is still helping me up, dusting me off, and carrying my burdens.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Taking the Fall
I haven't blogged in six weeks. But for once, I have a good reason. I think.
10 March--Wick and I were at our lake place, where we are building a cabin. I remember getting up that morning, dressing, going from the RV to the cabin. That's the last thing I remember, until I was on my back, looking up at a bright light, and wondering where I was and what happened.
In between, apparently, I somehow fell in the cabin. Wick, who had gone out into the yard for something, heard a loud sound as if I had dropped something. He went back into the cabin and found me face down on a pile of wood, bleeding, and incoherent. He called 991, the EMTs arrived, put me on a helicopter, and flew me to the emergency room some 15 miles away.
My first time in a helicopter, and I don't remember it. Sheeesh.
By the time my brain was functioning again, daughter Jeana had already driven 3 hours to get to my stretcher side, the ER people had x-rayed and cat scanned, and my first visual image was of Wick looking at me upside down. He was standing at my head, and to me he looked up side down, and pretty blurry.
They told me that among other things I told the EMTs that it was 1977, that I was 33, and insisted that Wick must remember to pick Jeana up from band practice--it has been quite some time since Jeana was in the high school band, since her eldest child is in fifth grade.
Jeana gently cleaned up the dried blood, held my hand, and offered to take me home with her for a few days, fearing that her daddy would get engrossed in what he was working on in the cabin and forget to take care of me. He was unwilling to let me out of his sight, so I didn't go, and it's a good thing, as it turns out. From looking like an alien, as Jeana described me, I went to looking like .... ummmm......well, like Rocky when he climbed out of the ring calling "Adrian!"
I kept saying, "I can't see. Cut me, Mick...I can't see!"
My eyes were swollen shut, the knot on my head covered most of my forehead, my whole face was black and blue, as well as a badly bruised arm and hand, and I had stitches in my nose. At least the hairline fracture didn't show. If I had gone home with Jeana, the kids would have had to lead me around by the hand, since I couldn't see. Wick hovered like a hen with a single chick, making sure I took my meds, that I ate, even if it was only soup, and frequently thanking God that it was no worse than a bad concussion.
In the five weeks since my fall, I have been having memory problems, balance and coordination, and a killer headache. But the knot is beginning to shrink, most of the bruising is improved, and I am back at work.
And now, at last, I am blogging again.
If you missed me, now you know where I have been.
10 March--Wick and I were at our lake place, where we are building a cabin. I remember getting up that morning, dressing, going from the RV to the cabin. That's the last thing I remember, until I was on my back, looking up at a bright light, and wondering where I was and what happened.
In between, apparently, I somehow fell in the cabin. Wick, who had gone out into the yard for something, heard a loud sound as if I had dropped something. He went back into the cabin and found me face down on a pile of wood, bleeding, and incoherent. He called 991, the EMTs arrived, put me on a helicopter, and flew me to the emergency room some 15 miles away.
My first time in a helicopter, and I don't remember it. Sheeesh.
By the time my brain was functioning again, daughter Jeana had already driven 3 hours to get to my stretcher side, the ER people had x-rayed and cat scanned, and my first visual image was of Wick looking at me upside down. He was standing at my head, and to me he looked up side down, and pretty blurry.
They told me that among other things I told the EMTs that it was 1977, that I was 33, and insisted that Wick must remember to pick Jeana up from band practice--it has been quite some time since Jeana was in the high school band, since her eldest child is in fifth grade.
Jeana gently cleaned up the dried blood, held my hand, and offered to take me home with her for a few days, fearing that her daddy would get engrossed in what he was working on in the cabin and forget to take care of me. He was unwilling to let me out of his sight, so I didn't go, and it's a good thing, as it turns out. From looking like an alien, as Jeana described me, I went to looking like .... ummmm......well, like Rocky when he climbed out of the ring calling "Adrian!"
I kept saying, "I can't see. Cut me, Mick...I can't see!"
My eyes were swollen shut, the knot on my head covered most of my forehead, my whole face was black and blue, as well as a badly bruised arm and hand, and I had stitches in my nose. At least the hairline fracture didn't show. If I had gone home with Jeana, the kids would have had to lead me around by the hand, since I couldn't see. Wick hovered like a hen with a single chick, making sure I took my meds, that I ate, even if it was only soup, and frequently thanking God that it was no worse than a bad concussion.
In the five weeks since my fall, I have been having memory problems, balance and coordination, and a killer headache. But the knot is beginning to shrink, most of the bruising is improved, and I am back at work.
And now, at last, I am blogging again.
If you missed me, now you know where I have been.
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