Story Tellers Wednesday

Are you still sitting comfy with your coffee and your reading glasses?
Have you been visiting with Shannon over at http://asouthernbellewithnorthernroots.blogspot.com/ ?  (Thanks for hosting this clambake, Shannon.)

I have another anniversary this week.  In fact it was yesterday on what is traditionally the date of the equinox. 

Eleven years ago on this date, I had what was simultaneously the most serious, hilarious, embarrassing, and painful experience of my life.  Thankfully there are no photographs to document this klutzy chapter of my life, but I'm sure you can conjure up some images to illustrate what I'm about to tell you.

My mom decided, on her own, that it was time to move into an assisted living facility, and we decided to buy her little house and move back to the Upper Peninsula from downstate Michigan. She hadn't used the upstairs for much but storage, but we would need to remodel and use the space if we were to move.

We were in the midst of demolition.  Actually, I was in the midst of demolition, because Good Guy had gone back to our other house to take care of some business.  I couldn't find a crowbar I'd been using, so I climbed into the rented dumpster to search for the missing tool. It was early, early in the morning.  It was dewy and damp, and when I attempted to climb back out, I fell backwards into the bottom of the box.

Fortunately for me, I didn't land on lathe with nails sticking up, or other pointy, dangerous objects.  But even at that, I wasn't feeling so good.  None of my near neighbors were going to be able to hear me yell.  There is no foot traffic here, unless someone is jogging or dog walking.  I was officially in a pickle.

I'm a little foggy about how I climbed back out.  But I thought I'd get myself a water supply and hang out in the recliner to see how that felt.  Big mistake.  No piece of furniture in my house is as hard on my back as the recliner is.  Bad pain.  I needed to go to the ER.  I wasn't  hemorrhaging or especially shocky.  No ambulance. 

I struggled out of the recliner and felt better already.  I called my sister who lives across town.  Bless her heart, (and I mean this sincerely), she said, "I'll be right there," and she drove me to Emergency Services.

I won't bore you with all the details, but my diagnosis was that I'd crushed one vertebra, and cracked another in two places.  The physician who was caring for me wanted to medicate me for pain, which really wasn't necessary as long as I lay still.

I'd been a hospital employee, so quite a few people would poke their head into the room.  "How did you you do this?"    (Mumbled reply)  I fell into a dumpster, followed by laughter--------no really, how did you do it?

It didn't take long to decline to answer, or to preface my answer with a "promise not to laugh".  It didn't work.   I laughed at it early and often. When Good Guy got back home, he was surprised that I wasn't there, and called my mom to see if I was there, when I didn't show up for supper. "Oh, she's in the hospital."

I hadn't forgotten about him, but couldn't see any point in him driving home for hours worrying about me.

I spent a whole season of my life in a hospital bed and body brace in my living room watching Fall turn into winter.  The maple tree in the yard across the street was my "calendar" as I watched the leaves turn and fall and the snow accumulate.  I was enough better by Thanksgiving so I could travel and we could go to get our furniture and I could drive for six hours home.

Thankfully I healed and if not as good as new, at least well enough.  It could have been a lot worse.
Lesson learned.  No more climbing into dumpsters.

You have a story too.  Please share some Wednesday.