Wednesday, September 03, 2014

A Gymnast and God I Am NOT

What did I get for my birthday? Well, in addition to some lovely things and things yet to come,  I got a strained ligament behind my  left knee.

Or just a slightly painful feeling when I walk.

How did that happen? I thought you'd never ask.

It was just a case of me being me, I guess.

On my actual birthday, last Tuesday, I took my 26 year-old to his follow-up doctor's appointment at Hopkins hospital in Baltimore City because his wife had to work.  Three weeks ago he broke his leg playing paintball at a bachelor party (before drinking even began) and had surgery two weeks ago to put in screws and a plate.

He was on crutches, all six foot six inches of him.  FYI, the crutches weren't long enough, nor was the examining room bed,  but that's another blog post.

So I let him out in front of the Outpatient Center and then proceeded to find a parking space in the garage across the street.   I have a normal size SUV but the garage was built in the day of "compact cars" and we all know how that goes. As you pull into a spot, you inhale and hold your breath as if it'll shrink the ribs of your vehicle.  (It doesn't.)

After circling like a shark at a seal convention, I finally found a spot between a red beater Ford sedan and a late model green Toyota SUV.  I squeezed in (holding my breath) and made the choice to park closer to the passenger side of the red beater.

Then I opened my door.

Okay, Tight.  So I put my keys in purse and set my purse outside. Then I grabbed the bag containing my son's big ole XXL orthopedic boot and other stuff and set it outside my door in front of the purse.

Then I got myself out.   Sort of. Not really. I was stuck. I shimmied and scooted back in and thought I'll just have to back out and repark, that's all.  Well, good luck when you can't get to the keys in your purse.  And you can hear the phone ringing and can't get to that, either.  I'm coming, baby, just hold on!

So this is where the gymnastics began.  And I'm not a gymnast. I'm not even agile. Nor am I small.

My only escape was through the passenger side door.
Right leg  over the gear shift,
butt over the gear shift.
left leg over the gear shift.

 It sounds like three easy steps but there was a lot of swearing sweating involved. At last I made it out, snatched up  my purse and boot bag, and then went about rendezvousing with my son.

Fast forward past the painful part (not the least of which, for him, was my insistence on taking a mother-son birthday-at-the-hospital selfie) while waiting for the doctor.



After the 1.5 hour visit, I thought surely one of those vehicles would be gone and thus my re-entry fairly smooth.

Nope.

So, once again, gymnastics time. I entered from the passenger door, and then used geometry, algebra, theology and Vaseline to get myself wedged back into the driver's seat.  Well, my butt managed to get into the seat, but my left leg was a different story.  The steering wheel had my leg folded in half, cutting off circulation. More swearing   sweating ensued.  I managed to reach the power seat lever and slide the seat back as far as it would go. Then my free leg had to be woken up before I could address my dangling right leg. Somehow I coaxed and pulled it into position, too.

At times like these, you realize there is a God and you're not Him.    And you realize that, honey, you are not even young anymore.  So my son is on crutches and I'm using   a cane.

Just kidding about the cane.

I'm in traction.

2 comments:

Lea said...

OMG! I am sorry but I was laughing out loud as I read this very descriptive post. Some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed. I'd say this was one of those days. :o))

Sally Henry said...

Oh sweetie... I'm sorry, but I was absolutely dying laughing as you described this whole adventure! Not that I have ever done the same thing... or opened up the rear hatch of my minivan to climb out that way since my drivers side and passenger side were both boxed in by Hummers. :-)