Olympic Freefalling

If there was an Olympic Freefalling event, I am quite sure that I would take home the gold. I have pulled of a perfect-10, awe-inspriring free-fall from a bar stool into a fire-fire truck metal bunk bed and managed to pass by $300 worth of breakable artifacts without so much of a splinter. My body however, well, that is another story altogether. I guess a fat girl trying to teeter on a bar stool to hang a light on the ceiling is not a good idea. Who knew?

Friday afternoon, approximately 4 hours prior to our leaving for vacation, I was at the store doing some last minute things before leaving for the week. One of these last minute things included hanging a light fixture in the corner of what is going to be a spectacular kids room. I couldn't quite reach the ceiling by standing on the bed, so I grabbed a bar stool and used that to hang the light. I am standing on the bar stool with both arms reaching toward the ceiling, when the bar stool tips out from under me. Because my hands were full, I was unable to cushion my fall, and sadly, my knee took the brunt of the force.

As I was writhing around on the floor in excruciating pain, all I could think of was leaving in a few hours for my vacation. HOW COULD I HAVE DONE THIS??????

I get up and attempt to assess the damage. My leg is kind of dangling so I know that it can't be good. I try to put some weight on my leg, I hear a loud pop, and I'm back on the floor. Nothing really holding it together but some fat and skin.

Now I'm a bit nervous and starting to sweat. I call my mom and she comes to take me to the emergency room. (I had to pass by Enrique Los Hotpants in a wheelchair. Oy. That guy really gets to see the best in me.)

By the time we arrive at the ER I am just writhing in pain. Serious pain. And lucky for us, we got right in. My blood pressure is 150 over 110. Um, yeah, it hurts THAT bad.

The cute PA feels sorry for me so I quickly get a large injection of morphine. I am still in tons of pain, but I seriously don't care. A cute college kid gets put in the bed next to mine and before long he is asking for my number. Morphine is my friend.

As it turns out, the PA is leaving for Cancun in 4 hours, so he is just as eager to get out the door. I am quickly sent off for x-rays, and after a few minutes, I am told there is no break, given some crutches and a brace, and told to follow up with an orthopedic when I get back.

Well, as it turns out, even though morphine is my friend, morphine and crutches are mortal enemies. So, I had to finish packing from the perch of my wheelchair. (It only took me 17 minutes to scoot up the stairs.)

Needless to say, I was a bit suprised to find a screwdriver and 3 packets of parmesan cheese in the bottom of my bag.

So, dear Paco finishes up the packing and gets the car all neatly packed. He is totally OCD when it comes to packing so everything is perfectly weighted and balanced.

Our normal ritual is for me to drive the first and last leg, and Paco drives the middle bit. However, since I was seeing rainbows and unicorns, Paco did all 12 hours on his own. He is such a good man. And he never once complained when he had to stop every 2 hours to walk his wife. Good man. Very good man. (I'm still on drugs.)

So, now we are here at the beach. My favorite place in the world. I am still seeing rainbows and talking to unicorns, just in much better surroundings.

I will keep you all posted as to the foils and follies of the next 7 days. Wish me luck . . .