Momnesia

I Do All My Own Stunts

Augusta, Ga. - I waited two days to see a doctor about my toe because I refused to pay the ER co-pay. I needed to see a doctor on Monday, but first I had to keep a sales appointment. Luckily, it ended up being the awesome wife of a Facebook friend, who brought their adorable little year-old son with her. She had heard about my broken toe, so she was prepped for my stupidity. Crutches + me = DISASTER. I'm just glad I got there before her, and left after her.

I was psyched to get a parking space right in front of the cafe. I was not psyched that there was no handicapped cut-through. Thus began what I call the Turbo Crutch Boogie:

Step 1: Crutch up to the curb.
Step 2: Wonder if giants have been subcontracted to do construction in Columbia County, 'cause that's a frickin' high curb.
Step 3: Position crutches at bottom of curb.
Step 4: Using crutches as a fulcrum, launch body up and over curb.
Step 5: Land on un-injured foot. Ta daaahh!
Step 6: Feel tug of gravity.
Step 7: Crutch desperately backwards off the curb, to keep from falling on ample behind.
Step 8: Crutch in ridiculous wobbly circle, trying to regain balance.
Step 9: Repeat, to amusement of onlookers sitting by the windows of the cafe.
Step 10: Consider giving unhelpful onlookers a big hyah! of Crutch Fu.
Step 11: Give up, reconcile myself to embarrassment, crutch over to the fencing that surrounds the outdoor seating, and use it as a ladder.

The meeting was great. I really liked her, and I admired her family's story. I adored her smiley wee baby boy, and I felt confident that we'd have a good time working together to have a positive impact on a local business. And then we left. But I realized I'd forgotten a card from my purse, and went back in to get it.

Repeat Turbo Crutch Boogie.

I am a dancin' machine.

I retrieved the card from the table, shoved it in my sweater pocket. But as I neared the exit, my crutches - which are so old that Charles Dickens gave them to Tiny Tim, I'm pretty sure - slipped out from under me on the slick tile floor. "Uh oh," I thought. "Going down."



It was spectacular - and Ima letcha finish, J. Lo, but it was one of the great falls of all time. My keys went one way. My crutches the other. I made a noise like "huuuuuooooooomph!" as a hit the ground. It looked amazing, yet hurt not at all... unless you count the injury to my ego.

"....Awesome," I sighed mentally. "This is just how I was hoping my day would go." And then I realized I was talking out loud. Even better.

A cafe employee peered down at me with confusion and concern. "Ma'am? Are you alright?"

"Oh... yeah. Just napping," I replied, still lying on the floor. An entering customer stepped around me with a bemused expression.

The cafe employee - a friendly older lady probably supplementing her Social Security - gave a sympathetic smile. "Are you hurt?"

"Not anymore than I already was." My toe throbbed from the involuntary effort that every muscle in your body makes when trying to avoid a fall. But it was bearable.

"Do you need some help to get up?"

"Nah," I sighed. "I'm just going to lay here and collect my pride for a moment."

"Okay," she said, laid my keys next to me, and toddled off.

After a minute, when the icy blast of winter air from the door alerted me that I was still lying in the way of entering customers, I sat up. The cafe employees were going on about their business, and I was shielded from the customers (minus the two who walked in - hi there!) by a wall that ensured minimal mortification. And, luckily, I was wearing pants.

So, using a chair to help me off the ground, I gathered myself to leave. The car seemed light years away from where I sat. I briefly considered crying like a spoiled infant. Then I took a deep breath, berating myself with the knowledge that some people have to do this every moment of their whole lives.

"Besides," I thought. "Getting off the curb is easier than getting on."

A little inspiration