I've always thought the phrase with which I titled this post was kind of funny. Sounds like something I would have come up with, though it was in fact the wit of someone else. Regardless, it ended up being the perfect way to kick off the post.
For whatever reason, as of late, I seem to have become an active participant in the fine art of falling. About eight months ago, I fell while I was mowing my lawn. In case you missed that comedy of errors, read about it here. And for an incredible encore, I fell again a couple of days before this past Thanksgiving, which is what inspired this post. I'll get to that in a bit.
Why am I falling all of a sudden? I didn't inherit this from my folks as they moved through life rather gracefully from what I've been told. They danced, they played sports, they drove cars with three-speed column shift manual transmissions and never ground the gears. The truth is that I've never been graceful; I'm actually pretty clumsy, really. That's why I never went out for sports. I knew I wouldn't do well with that. Even as the official team benchwarmer I'd probably fall backward off the bench and land in the water bucket at some point.
So on the fateful day that inspired this post, I was over at the local AAA office to pay Lori's car registration. They'll take a credit or debit card for AAA stuff, but since auto registration fees go directly to the DMV, you have to pay with a check. I didn't remember whether I had the checkbook in my car, so I went out to my car to find out. There was a car parked next to me with some people hanging out behind it. Rather than walking through the middle of their group, I noticed an opening in the bushes that I could simply walk through. However, simplicity can be deceiving. On the way through, my foot must have caught the bush or something because the next thing I knew, I tripped, fell off the curb, and slammed against the car next to me. I was in too much pain to call out to the few people there (most had left). They had to have seen this, but then they were gone. I noticed that my arm seemed to be in a weird position. First thought: I've broken it. Great! But I could wiggle my fingers freely without any pain, so I figured there weren't likely any broken bones. Somehow I stood up and my right arm was still in that weird position. Could I have dislocated it?
I did go back into the AAA office and said I'd "had a little mishap" and that my checkbook was at home, so I'd have to come back tomorrow. They said no problem. Where I went next was to the ER at St John's Pleasant Valley Hospital about a mile away. Fortunately, my car's gear selector lever is mounted high on the dash, so I was able to reach over the steering wheel with my left hand to put it into gear.
At the hospital, I parked and walked in to the ER and checked in. They said I'd be seen in about 20 minutes. Within a half-hour, I was taken into a room and they had me lie face down on a padded table. The doctor tried as hard as he could to get my arm bone to pop back into the socket at the shoulder. No such luck. So they took me into a different room and had me lie on a bed, then gave me something to knock me out. And I was out cold.
Forty-five minutes later, I was awakened and told that my arm was now back in place, and that it had been quite an ordeal to get it that way. Apparently I tried to resist for some reason, but brute force won out.
I couldn't reach Diana to come get me, but Lori was able to come. Just as we got home, Diana pulled up in the driveway next to us. She and Lori went to get my car and brought it home. As for the registration, Lori took it and paid it online herself. In hindsight, I should have gone that route in the first place.
If nothing else, my life seems to have a theme: "You never know what's coming next." And believe me, I never do.
