Although I mentioned I fell down and went boom, I was too angry at the time to explain it in any way that might help someone else. I’ve had a few days to calm down.
It was Monday. I parked my car and was walking toward the entrance to a thrift shop, where I planned to search for cheap things I might turn into art or something like it. Items were displayed on the porch. I got excited, and with my eyes on the prize, I tripped on a parking lot car stopper and went face down.
People were nice. Stuff flew out of my purse, and someone gathered it up. Someone else brought me a chair. A woman with a young child had a wad of tissues for my bleeding chin. I felt OK, but I sat there keeping pressure on the chin. I asked someone for a mirror, and when I saw the gash, I immediately knew I’d need medical treatment.
I drove to a walk-in clinic near my house. I did not know there’s a difference between a walk-in clinic and an urgent care clinic. The physician’s assistant at the walk-in clinic took a quick look and said I needed to go to urgent care.
Next stop was urgent care, where I commenced to wait. I was there over an hour, when the receptionist announced there was some sort of air quality problem, perhaps carbon monoxide. They were closing the clinic and evacuating the building. She said I’d need to go to their other clinic, a good 30 minutes away.
I thought, well, I don’t need to stay within their system, as long as the clinic accepts my insurance. I used Google Maps to find another urgent care clinic down the street. Oh, and Dale had let his phone die, as he often does, so there was no way to reach him and let him know I’d be late. I finally texted a neighbor and asked her to let Dale know where his wife was.
By this time, I started bleeding again. I thought that might bump me up in line, but it did not. A woman with five children offered to let me go in front of her, and I said, seriously, you must be the kindest person ever, but I’ll just wait my turn and mop up the blood as best I can.
The gash only needed two stitches. It didn’t hurt much at all, and I thought I was golden. Until the next day, I woke up with bruises all over and sore ribs. The ribs actually got worse the next day, but they are getting better. Still, I’m taking it easy. I’m pissed to have endured all that rain and no golf, only to mess myself up as soon as it got nice outside.
Anyway, the clinic said to come back in 10 days to have the stitches removed. The aftercare sheet they gave me said five days if the laceration is on the face. I called my regular doctor, and they said yes, five days. I had an appointment Friday to have them removed, but I messed up the time and missed my appointment. They would not work me in. I now have an appointment to have the stitches removed Monday, which will be seven days. I don’t care anymore. What’s one more scar?
At every juncture on this little journey, I would explain I tripped over a parking lot car stopper. And almost every single person had a story about a pedestrian accident involving parking lot care stoppers. I had never given them much thought, but you can bet I will now.
I have no good explanation for my lapse of attention. But missing my appointment is another indication I’m letting too much distract me. This post about juggling balls from Linda at Thoughts From a Bag Lady in Waiting certainly resonated with me. From now on, I’m starting every day with a look at the calendar and a very short list of priorities.
Here’s the weirdest part, and I would love to hear from anyone who has a theory. March 11 was the anniversary of my cancer diagnosis. That was 1999. On March 11, 2012, I fell off my bicycle and broke my wrist. And now on March 11, 2019, I busted myself up in a parking lot.
Please be careful out there. We don’t bounce like we used to.