Sticks and Stones

Most often when I write there is a quiet, gentle purposeful undertone bubbling beneath a story that I hope brings pleasure and a break from the crazy or mundane of the day. I hope my tactics employed for a chuckle or right-out laughter serves to enhance the deeper purpose of attempting to wrestle out the meaning of some new thought or point in the direction of a graceful truth of a lesson learned.

But not today. 

Today, I am here in Stark Story Mode. There is no need to intertwine encouragement, dig for truth, or expound upon new thoughts. In fact, let's get childish. Let’s go way back till we find ourselves in the neighborhood hang out yard or the elementary school playground. Either will do. Come on now, you can hear it, can’t you? That stupid sing-song-y-supposed-to-be-brave chant of childhood to ward off the bullies once and for all -

“Sticks and stones may break my bones….”

You hear it, don’t you? And I bet you are singing it to the end complete with a good ol’ sticking out of the tongue at the finale to punctuate how very strong and unaffected you are to the mean name calling.

But hang on, this post is not about the “but names will never hurt me!” part. It is definitely all about the “sticks and stones” and breaking of bones and to what is perhaps my last claim to fame = I have never broken a bone.

I certainly am no daredevil, but I have been involved in my fair share of roller skating, skateboarding, wheelies on my bike, climbing trees, scaling fences and leaping from tall buildings and such. All this to my credit and only a few bumps and bruises and nary a stitch to be had. 

Code Three

Until at the ripe old age of 55, that is, as I step out of a perfectly level, solidly secure camper and break my ankle.

In two places.

Complete with a nice dislocation.

As I sit on the ground wiling myself NOT to look at the damage for fears I will faint, I stare at the sky through the evergreen trees and realize I have no recollection of what just happened here. And here is where we begin our tale.

On the ground, staring at the sky….

My boyfriend transforms before my eyes from a relaxed flannel wearing camper chatting about a walk before dinner to full out blue uniform decked out protector and enforcer. Sans telephone booth. Who knew he still had a siren and light from his career days? I exaggerate, but only slightly as he barks orders: 

“Code 3! Lights and sirens!”

In my delirium I swear I hear sirens, but perhaps it is just the horn and flashing lights of his truck.  What I experience next is nothing short of a highspeed chase with excellent vehicle handling as we race down the mountain towards the emergency room.

No Holes

Funny what goes through a mind in times of crisis. As much as I had to concentrate on holding my leg up and keeping steady on our mad dash along mountain roads, the bigger struggle was quelling the voices from all the mothers of history who in their indisputable wisdom instructed any person about to go on a journey (even to the local grocery) to “make sure you have good, clean underwear on!" (Meaning one without holes).

The wisdom continues: "What if you get in an accident and the ambulance has to come and get you?” I always wondered why my underwear would be so important should I get in a car wreck ... .and now this age-old wisdom was circling through my brain like I had nothing better to think about. 

Over the next hours of ER attention and learning to master truly heroic inhuman contortions to accommodate the mandate of “toes above nose”, I consider deeply how gravely I have failed myself. All the years of planning and mental gymnastics to be fully prepared in a time of emergency and here I was splinted, wrapped, be-crutched, balancing an ungainly appendage on a stack of pillows four high and counting. Just how high is my nose?? 

Be Prepared

I don’t know what other people think about in their spare time, but surely it is similar to the problem-solving scenarios I create that demand detailed steps succinctly listed for quick retrieval and use in time of need. Since childhood I have created action plans for any number of sequence of events most likely to happen during the lifetime of an average person. Nothing like being prepared and all, you know. 

For example, one of my favorites that I have practiced in my head a million times has been jumping from a train. Well, of course you can’t just jump, stiff legged and unprepared. One must check the terrain ahead and behind, calculate the speed of the train, ascertain if there are upcoming curves, tunnels, etc., and then leap for all you are worth with every fiber of your being tucking and rolling till you come to a stop. 

Scratched? Sure. Bruised? Well, yes, but you have successfully jumped from a train literally unscathed ready to brush off and …. Well, I am not sure why I was on that train or why I had to jump off or what I will do now, but the point is I have a plan and that is half the journey!

My next favorite and obviously necessary escape plan is what to do in case I find myself falling out of a car. This was definitely a big childhood brain teaser taking up countless hours of figuring and planning. Key to all this planning was visualizing how it would be executed from the moment the car door latch let go until the final brushing of gravel from my knees when it was all over. Once again, it involved the good old “tuck and roll”. 

Where Did I Go Wrong?

Here is where the self-disappointment lies. For all my years training in What If Preparation, in time of need there was no - and I do mean NO - tuck and roll. In fact, there wasn’t even any sane cognizant thought process during my crisis. Even after rigorous years of self-imposed training, no vision of Tuck and Roll perfection rose to save me. In fact, after the first twinge of the ankle roll registered, my entire being said, “Oh this is going to be bad!” and that was literally it. Everything shut down. No grabbing of the railing, no deciding to fall on my face rather than sacrifice my leg.

Nope. Nada. Nothing.

I threw every shred and practiced moment of grand mental gymnastics out the window, blacked out until I was looking skyward through the trees feeling grateful I was not wearing holey underwear.

A New Direction