I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up

Day 3 of not being able to walk upright. Well, closer to not being able to walk at all.

Looks like visits to the Doctors are in order. Chiropractic and Medical. I stack the deck when things get this bad. If there was an Acupuncturist around here, he'd be on the list too. Did I mention my Rolfing guy?

However, I am too bent over and screaming out loud to be twisted, slammed on the drop table, or poked somewhere deep in my muscle core. So we start with the acute care first. When I need acute care, there is really only one place to go: Dr. N's Walk-In Mini-ER and Job Screening Emporium. No Finer Care Anywhere!

Dr. N, formerly of the US Army Medical Corps, board certified Emergency Medicine, is the most efficient physician I have ever met. Seriously, he should have a TV show. It would have to be cable, though. My Dr's sense of humor is a little more like HBO than CNN.

Turn on the wayback machine, and visualize with me:

I am at work (of course) and my husband is at home with the kids. The kids decide to play up by the stadium course, where some picnic tables are set up under the pavilions for spectators to rest their weary horse show bones.

Middle son decides he is going to walk from picnic table to picnic table. Unfortunately, the spacing is a little wide, and he does not realize that the lever is a very effective simple machine.

I will point out that eliminating the teeter-totter from playgrounds has put our children at a Darwinian disadvantage, but more on that later.

As middle son puts his weight a little past the fulcrum, the weight of the picnic table behind him overcomes its gravitational pull. The net result is that instead of stepping to the next table, my son is pitched violently forward. His face contacts the next table rather than his foot, and his front teeth create a new and unwanted facial orifice.

Facial cuts really bleed. A lot. My son was discovered by one of the campground Campers, and was delivered to my best friend for triage. In the short time it took for this to occur, Mr. Camper got so much blood on him he resembled an extra in a slasher movie.

My friend immediately realized this was indeed a job for Dr. N. She summoned my husband, and the three made 20 minute drive to the good Dr.'s office in about eleven minutes.

As they sit in the waiting room bleeding, the good Dr. comes out to run a little visual triage. "Anyone here for a circumcision?" he announces cheerfully. The fifteen or so people sitting there let that sink in for a minute, then start to snicker. "No?" Disappointed, he sighs. "Well, I guess we'll see the folks that are bleeding next."

Laughter is indeed the best medicine, especially the off-color kind. My husband, previously a little worried, is now well satisfied. Truly this is The Right Guy to name as our new family physician.

Okay, back to today.

I will travel to the Hippocratic temple, and Dr. N. will do the necessary. He will make me laugh. The joke personally reserved for me is: "Do you want me to write this up as 'My husband did this to me?'" I will thank him for the offer, and tell him to hold that thought for another time. At that point, he will have someone stab me with a needle. I will barely notice this, because I am hurting so bad. I will crawl back home and lay in bed.

Hopefully tomorrow I will be walking again.