Today, I have only a partial day at the office because I have my regular "every two weeks" appointment with my therapist. This person helps me keep my head on straight and focused on the things I SHOULD be focused on.
Then I come here and focus on other things that I probably shouldn't.
So last night I worked some on my fair isle sweater, but about 8 pm I got so tired that I finally had to just give up and go to bed. I slept HARD all night, and this morning I feel like I was run over by an 18-wheeler....not JUST some ordinary pickup truck. And it was a wide load, double bottom Peterbuilt.
In short, I'm sore. I've got a kink in my neck that's going to take at least 15 minutes in the shower to deal with, and my throat feels like I've been sucking on cotton all night. Let it be known, my readers, that getting old sucks brussel sprouts.
As I mentioned, I have my doctor's appointment today. She's a nice lady. She thinks I'm funny. She thinks I should write a book. I get flustered when people say things like that--because I'm no Erma Bombeck. So I thought that I would write a story here about something that happened a long time ago.
Yes, it's really true.
Randy, my son and I drove over to a friend's house to work on his car. It turns out that didn't happen, but I digress. We got to chatting in the garage, and the friend's son, we'll call him Bobby, because I don't remember his name, came and asked his dad if he could play in the hayloft in the barn, and he wanted my son to go along--who was only 6 or 7 at the time. I was not comfortable with the idea at the get go, but the friend assured me that his son was up there all the time and everything would be FINE. So, I relented against my better judgment, and let him go and play with his new pal Bobby.
After about 10 minutes, Randy told me to go and check on the kids, which I did--just in time to watch my son fall through the ceiling like a rag doll and fall to the cement floor like a sack of sand. He lay there pretty much motionless while I screamed for Randy!
You see, Randy had always told me never to move anyone who had fallen or been hurt in a car accident--neck issues, you know? I figured Randy to be the best one to meet with this incident, because he'd told me that he'd had EMT training when he worked for the Michigan University Search and Rescue. (Note: Later I found out that Randy was never in this group of people, it was his brother RICK--Randy just appropriated that part of his brother's life and lied to me about it.)
So I allowed this untrained person to roll my son over. He was out like a light. Two bumps on his haid--one on front, from hitting the concrete, one on back that happened when he fell through the ceiling. He was out for all of a couple minutes--no more than 5.
We got in the car and headed to readi-care.
The doctor's took all manner of x-rays. No skull fractures, thank god, but he did have a concussion. Poor kid had headaches for a week! I think he still does.
Closed head injuries are horrible things.
Now before you say it, I will. "Why would you let your 6 year old son do something like that when your gut reaction was---'it's not safe'?"
Because I was STUPID. When it came to Randy, I was stupid. Him and his friends would always override my own natural ability to sense DANGER and Hostility. Randy nearly killed us both on the motorcycle one day, and nearly killed my son that day.
I hope he rots in HE**.