Thanksgiving didn’t go quite like I planned it. Instead of a long walk somewhere with the grandchildren, I took a quick ride and a short walk to Wayne Hospital Emergency Room.
Actually it all started two days earlier on Tuesday evening. I was headed for the six o’clock class I taught at Edison College in Piqua.
I made it out the door and down the front steps with my usual grace. Then at the bottom of the steps my left foot encountered a small rock. My foot twisted sideways, and I went down with even more of my usual grace.
As a rule, when I fall I immediately bounce back up and look around quickly to see if anyone saw me.
This time I didn’t bounce. I made a three-point landing on my knees and the heel of my left hand and rolled to the right to avoid hitting my head on the low wall on the left.
Bill, my husband, heard my scream and flew out the door to my rescue.
I got back over on my hands and knees and managed to get up and look down to assess the damage. I thought both knees would be bloody, but I didn’t even have a run in my hose. My skirt wasn’t torn. My hands weren’t even dirty.
Bill had picked up my purse and its contents which had scattered all over the yard. He offered his arm and said, “Come on, I’ll help you into the house.”
“I don’t have time. I’ll be late for class.” I took my purse, got into the Jeep, and headed for the college.
On the way, my head kept saying, “Don’t be stupid. Go home. But you know how it is, once the car starts toward work you can’t stop it.
The next day my foot was sore, but not badly bruised, so I taught my Wednesday class, and afterwards went home to begin the preparations for Thursday’s Thanksgiving dinner.
My youngest daughter and her only daughter stopped by to help me.
I was grateful.
Thursday morning Bill and I got up early. I limped down to the kitchen and sat on a stool to prepare the dressing while Bill prepared the turkey. We stuffed the dressing into the bird, and the bird into the oven. I prepared the candied yams and stacked them in the refrigerator on top of the extra dish of dressing.
Then, instead of having a cup of tea, I went back to bed.
When the girls came in early to help, they were surprised to discover that they had a do-it-themselves dinner project, but they did a great job. And why shouldn’t they? They’ve been training for this for over 30 years.
As I sat in Bill’s recliner trying to eat dinner, each of my children managed a variation of Bill’s theme. “Mom, we think you need to go to the hospital.”
I just looked at them over my glasses and my elevated foot and replied, “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”
Finally, Joe commanded, “Come on Mom, you are going to ER—now!” What could I say? He learned how to do that from me.
I finally admitted I wasn’t going to take our Thanksgiving walk, and even briefly considered ordering all 40 dinner guests to the hospital with me. But then I realized I had no reason to punish the ER staff.
So I went to Wayne Hospital with Joe and Bill, and came home with a brace and a walker.
By Sunday after Thanksgiving I was in a temporary cast, and now I’m in a dandy little fiber glass number for the holidays.
Maybe I can decorate it for Christmas!
EDITOR‘S NOTE: This column was first published in The Daily Advocate on Dec. 9, 1998.
