Sometimes when I empty the trash, I shake the can until its empty. Then I look into the bottom of the barrel and more trash remains. It turns out, the same thing is true when I shake the box of my memories. Not long ago, my brother, Denny, and I published a book, “Growing Up In Stephentown” We did a pretty thorough job, but it seems other memories avoid detection; yet, once you set yourself the task of remembering, forgotten stories continue to trickle out. Like the day I fell …
Now this story didn’t happen while I was growing up in Stephentown; it happened after I became an adult [and I trust I’m not giving myself too much credit here.]
I had a two-story building; garage above, workshop below. I was standing on a sawhorse installing a fluorescent bulb, and I noticed two things simultaneously: 1- I had lost my balance, and 2- I wasn’t going to re-gain it. I’m gifted that way.
Well, my whole life didn’t flash in front of me, but I was amazed how slowly time crawled by as I headed face-first towards the concrete floor. I noted that the floor was bare, no hammers or two-by-fours to land on. The theory behind a karate chop is that it concentrates force across a narrow area thus much increasing that impact. Had the floor not been uncluttered, my landing would have soon resulted in flowers being delivered to the house, ‘We’re Sorry About Your Loss’ cards addressed to my wife, and a brief write-up in the local Obit column of our local newspaper.
Okay, so far, so good, but of course, I hadn’t landed yet…
The other thing which flashed on me was a memory of a head-on collision I had been involved in several years before.
It was snowy in Sedona, Arizona, and I was creeping my way up a mountain road. A pickup truck, driven by a man who didn’t put much stock in traction, was coming the opposite way. He lost control; his truck came into my lane, and the front end of my car was history.
The jolt was horrific, but my seatbelt and my build served me well. The officer inspecting the wreck advised me to go to the local ER. There are times when a law enforcement officer advises; there are other times when he advises. This was an example of the latter. So, grumpy old me [knowing I wasn’t hurt] sat in a grumpy old ambulance and was driven to the grumpy old ER. [Did I forget to mention that I felt a bit grumpy?]
From the time I got to the ER, I’m afraid I was a bit of a pain to deal with. But look at it from my point of view: I had medical training – years of it – and I knew I wasn’t injured. And number two, I was a broad swath of a lad in those days with a chest the strength and circumference of which were impressive. [Now, my chest more resembles a rusted aluminum can.] Okay, so that pickup had destroyed my car, but I was fine.
An urgent young intern rushed up to me and asked me if I had seen the fellow who had been in the head-on collision. I said no, but I’d help him look for his patient. Finally, I gave up the ruse and announced that I was the ‘Victim.’
He looked horrified and asked me why I wasn’t on a stretcher. “They’re for the sick or the injured.”
“But you’re injured!”
“I am?”
“Well, you’ve got to be! I heard your card was destroyed!”
“Car yes; me no.”
“But how do you know? Are you a doctor, sir?” [I dearly love that question! It’s like throwing an underhand pitch to Babe Ruth.]
I explained my credentials, then I took a deep breath of air. You see, it’s an old-timers’ trick: If you can inspire fully – without a hitch in your breathing – you have no breaks in your ribs or your breastbone.
Well, that encounter ended the way it ended. But, back to the present, I was still in mid-fall, the cement coming fast upon me.
But once again, my build – remember the barrel chest that now looks like a rusted can? – saved me. Now, I won’t say I wasn’t injured at all. I mean, I swallowed a filling, I bit my right eye, and never regained the hearing in my left leg, but other than these annoyances, I survived the collision the better for it. I stood up, marveled at both my good luck and Heaven’s grace, shook it off, and went back to work.
Look for Lucky’s books locally and on-line: I Swear By Apollo; The Oath of Hippocrates; The Cotillian; A Journey Long Delayed; Campfire Tales; Sabonics; More Campfire Tales; Growing Up In Stephentown; Animal Archives; The Story Teller. The Adventures of Napoleon: Volumes one and two; Musings
SEE SABRINA’S WILDLIFE WEBSITE: FACEBOOK.COM/SWVA WILDLIFE