October 02, 2006
So as I held onto the door, for fear of collapsing in pain, I wished that guy would experience Karmic retribution soon for what heÂ’d done. He quickly went on his way while everyone else around me just stopped and stared in amazement. One woman said as if I wasnÂ’t there: "Wow, she didn't yell, she didnÂ’t curseÂ… she didnÂ’t even cry. I would have at least called the guy a stupid m^%$#@*ker!" Well, just because I didnÂ’t say it didnÂ’t mean I didnÂ’tÂ’ think it.
Actually I didn't do any of those things because I was focusing all my attention on my injury, assessing my situation trying to figure out if I could stand let alone walk on it. The truth was I couldnÂ’t. So there I was, in the lobby of my building, waiting for the cavalry in the form of EMT's.
After the initial examination and prognosis by Jr. EMT, I was given 2 options. The first was to go by ambulance with them to the local emergency room. The 2nd was to refuse their care and see my own Dr. For me the decision was easy but I had to make sure that either one of my DrÂ’s or someone at headquarters could see me. Unfortunately for me, being a Jewish holiday meant that my doctors weren't in.
I will do anything in order to avoid going to a Hospital's emergency room...
A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G! While the rookie EMT was conferring with the experienced EMT and finishing up my paperwork I called the medical office at our headquarters 2 blocks away to let them know I would be coming over and in what condition. Being the resourceful chick that I am, I called in a few favors and got taken in a wheelchair by 2 guys who are (terrific former Marines) on our security staff. Our medical office is staffed by well qualified and very experienced, PA's, PT's and RN's. The guys stuck around and tried to make light of the situation by telling me of their injuries during their last deployment. How could I think of even complaining after that?
By the time the nurse saw me, one of my toes was turning black and blue and the rest of my injured toes were swelling up. Even though I was still in some pain, I still believed that my toes were not broken, hairline fracture maybe, but not broken.
The nurse was the first to try to examine me, but since I was squirming and moving too much she wasnÂ’t able to finish and called in the PhysicianÂ’s Asst. for help. He too was unable to complete the exam as I was by then writhing. He in turn called in the PT to see if he would have better luck with me. After I calmed down a bit I explained that I had been through this before so I asked if they had any type of topical anesthetic on hand.
After the PT sprayed me with the anesthetic, they placed bags of ice on both sides of my foot so they could numb my foot and eventually examine me without me thrashing about. It was only after my foot was completely numb that they were able to check my toes and my foot without me thrashing and crying out in both pain and hysterical laughter. At one point I had all the staff laughing hysterically with me as they had never seen anything like it.
Yes, I know itÂ’s strange, what can I say, I have extremely sensitive feet. Whenever anyone touches my feet I start giggling like mad, and if they continue, within a minute I break out into uncontrollable hysterical laughter. My security escorts thought it was so strange to hear me in such a hysterical fit of laughter instead of crying that they asked to come in and see me. I was laughing so hard when they walked in that they eventually started laughing too. I was laughing so hard I couldnÂ’t even speak.
As the guys closed the door to the taxi that was taking me home I overheard one of them say to the other: “that’s one hell of an area to have an erogenous zone.” I wanted to tell them 'nope that's one hell of an area to have a hysterical funny zone.' What they don’t know is whenever I want to laugh that hard all I have to do is get a pedicure or go to buy shoes and I’m left smiling and giggling for the rest of the afternoon.
BTW, the diagnosis: hairline fracture in 1 toe. Result: IÂ’m wearing an iddy biddy splint and a smile!
Posted by: Michele at
11:57 PM
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July 10, 2006
Unable to sleep last night I trolled through the blogosphere and visited many wonderful bloggers. I saved some of my favorite sites for last. Among them was this little refuge in the woods created by RSM. His posts have a way of helping my stress melt away, bringing me back to a time and place where life was sweeter, slower and more care free than it is today.
Unfortunately, his post made me really long for the uncomplicated warmth and beauty of my childhood surroundings. Ironically, though IÂ’ve lived in many places, they were mostly rural settings that fueled both my spirit and imagination. In France, I lived not far from the Versailles Gardens where aesthetic beauty in nature was elevated to an art form.. Sicily offered a rough rocky terrain with luscious green hills to frolic in and the pervasive sweet scent of the ocean no matter where you went. In Peru I lived halfway up the foot of a range that lead into the Andean Mountains. In Mexico City I sat on a porch within view of some incredible Aztec ruins.
All of these places touched history, and in their own way they touched and influence me. But of all the places IÂ’ve lived, none was sweater or more dear than my grandfatherÂ’s cabin in the woods. It was originally a shed that he would escape to when the kids were too much or the demands of a husband and father got to be too demanding for him. A quiet retreat in a world in which he had no say or control. A place of his own! When he was older and grandma had passed, he had a sturdy cabin built to live in its place, and to exhale his last breath in. RSM brought that peaceful environment of a lovely rustic setting back to me, and suddenly I was longing more than ever to visit with my grandfather and go pretend fishing with him at the creak way behind his cabin.
This creak is where he and I idled many an afternoon in quiet conversation. ItÂ’s where I dozed many a hot lazy summer day, sitting on the roots of a 200 year old tree, nestled in an opening someone had carved in its trunk, while I let my feet dangle, barely touching the water with my toes, as I swung them back and forth. As I grew older, on hot sticky days IÂ’d cool myself by submerging my fully clothed body into the water, sitting cross-legged on the rocks on the creak bed while I let my arms float gently beside me. I would sit so still, that from time to time, small fish would lightly kiss my arms in an attempt to see if I was food worthy.
The water was so crystal clear I could see dead leaves and tiny mollusks scampering about at the bottom of the creak that would somehow find their way there during hurricane season. The water was cooled by the deep dense shade of the canopy of trees and densely covered limbs that surrounded this bend in the creak.
One afternoon, after being away for almost a year, I visited the creak only to find my grandfather had hung a cotton canvas hammock between 2 sturdy limbs that leaned over the creak. It hung low enough over the water to keep you cool on a hot summer day, and high enough to keep you dry. IÂ’ll never forget the scent of sun-scorched cotton mixed with my grandfatherÂ’s perspiration which I noticed as soon as I lay down in the hammock It was a place I felt sheltered and protected from the changes that were happening in my life. It was my own refuge against the demands of the world. It was there I ran to and cried when IÂ’d get the call from my parents telling me when they were going to pick me up.
It was in that hammock that I plotted with my diary how I would run away into the mountains, so I could never be found and still live close enough to my grandfather to visit him regularly. At the end of that summer, when we relocated back to NYC I knew it would be a very long time before IÂ’d return.
Sometimes at night, instead of reading to my son a bed time story, I tell him tales of a little girl and her best friend Raif, who went on incredible adventures, and single handedly fended off her enemies and protected her fort with her wit and her bravery. She also managed to live off the land with just a swiss army knife, some rough twine, a big old sling-shot (that was sometimes to big for her hands) and an old canteen to keep her well in her travels. All of which she carried in a faded old green knapsack that been given magical powers by the warrior who possessed the bag before her.
After reading RÂ’s post, and my son seeing his pictures, heÂ’s made me promise weÂ’d visit that creak to see if that little girl still lives there. I dare say, if we look hard enough I believe we will find her!
Posted by: Michele at
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