Last Sunday was a lovely and peaceful day, or at least it intended to be. It started out spirit-filled, worship and fellowship-full, pain-free, work-free and peace-full. That was, until Attila decided to leap off a five-foot ladder while trimming our nearly eight-foot tall front hedge.
Sometimes I think Attila does these things just to provide me with stuff to write about. He recently told me, “I don’t talk to you anymore - I talk to your blog.” I think I may have retorted with something like, ”I have a serious back-log of material so you can feel free to stop supplying me with blog-fodder any time now!” I could use a break. Especially now that Attila has three of them.
Now back to Sunday - I was just about to begin writing my blog about Johnna, Henry and their baby, when Leigha catapulted into the house screaming “Daddy fell off the ladder!” For most normal people, this proclamation would strike fear deep in their heart. I know it should probably do that to me, but I have lost count of how many times Attila has fallen off ladders or down steps. I can’t get excited about stuff until I really HAVE to get excited about stuff, or I would be institutionalized from all the excitement! So I try to approach events with a “let’s just see what is going on first” attitude, before I decide what kind of reaction I am going to have.
When I arrived at the front of our house I found Attila sitting on his derriere on the concrete sidewalk beside the malevolent ladder. A neighbor was leaning over him asking if he was alright, and Leigha was fluttering around him in a bit of a tizzy. She loves her Daddy so!
Another neighbor arrived on the scene. And I saw Jane Yacoe come walking up from Lyryn and Jesse’s house at the end of our block. Jesse showed up too. There was a lot of blood dripping from Attila’s head, but it was merely a flesh-wound. All drama – no real pain or contusion.
Jesse asked Leigha for some first aid supplies and suggested that I pull the car around for a trip to the ER. It wasn’t looking like Attila could put any weight on his right foot at all. So Jesse and two neighbors lifted him into the back seat of my private ambulance. Attila wore his band-aid bonnet and groaned every time there was the slightest movement of his right ankle.
Typical for us, we laughed a lot during the drive. We have made this drive soooo many times before. We agreed that we should at least consider moving to Paoli. We could live mere minutes away from my new job as well as our favorite hospital.
I reminded Attila that he has fallen off ladders and/or steps at least seven times in the past. He denied this vehemently, but had to concede once I began listing each occurrence. One of those times he broke a toe. He said, “That one was okay because we got a toe truck to come.” I know, funny is relative (especially my relatives). In crisis, we choose to laugh at everything. It helps to soothe the aching disorientation and feelings of helplessness.
I told Attila that he is not permitted to climb ladders anymore. My heart can’t take it. He said, “We just have to get a bigger ladder.” (Okay, I seriously had no idea what he meant by that.) My immediate response was, “So you can fall from higher heights?”
I asked Attila how this unfortunate accident occurred. He told me that he started losing his balance while trimming the hedge. He didn’t want to fall into the bush and impale his transplanted kidney on some freakishly large (and sharp) branch, so he decided to “leap” in the other direction and land on his feet on the concrete sidewalk instead. Say, WHAT? I don’t know how all of this could possibly go through his mind in a split second, but he tells me this is what he was thinking, and he hasn’t lied to me in thirty years (as far as I know).
So just like the “cat with nine lives” that Attila is, he landed on his feet, yet again. Or should I say foot, then keister, then head.
The new ER at Paoli Hospital just opened up. It is lovely and all the rooms are private. Attila had an x-ray taken and was given pain medication. The doctor came in to inform us that Attila broke his fibula and two tibiae in his right ankle. The bones were displaced and surgery was required to straighten them out.
Attila was given some dinner and admitted to the hospital. Surgery happened on Monday night around 6:00pm. He was the last patient to be operated on in the “old” OR, and the last person to sleep in Rm 413.
Tuesday morning was the big move out of the old wing of Paoli Hospital into the new orthopaedic wing. Attila was the first person to sleep in Room 4009. He asked the nurses if he got a prize for that! Sadly, the answer was no. We are totally bummed.
Tuesday Attila had to get his post-surgery ankle painfully manipulated into proper position and casted. He told me that he screamed. My heart aches for my man when he aches. And especially if screaming is involved!
I called Attila from my office that afternoon. I asked him if he still had my work number and he told me that he left the paper he wrote it on in his old room. I suggested that he ask the nurse for a pen. He continued to ask me for the number so I asked him why he needed it since he didn’t have anything to write with. He told me that he was going to write out the numbers with the onions from his sandwich. He wasn’t kidding. Really. He was totally serious. He is hiLARious!
When the nurse returned with the pen, I asked her if Attila had low blood sugar since he sounded a bit daffy to me. She said that he had received a rather high dose of pain medication and assured me that he was acting perfectly normal under the circumstances. I thought Attila was actually very creative because onions certainly can be pulled apart to form numbers. I just didn’t think he would have enough rings to form the entire phone number!
Attila was transferred to Freedom Village on Wednesday. It is a skilled nursing facility (aka Senior Living Center) where he is receiving rehab until he is able to get around on his own. I think he sort of enjoys being the youngest guy in the place (for a change!).
My good friend Mrs. Alexander called me yesterday. I updated her on Attila’s latest shenanigans. She said that when Mr. Alexander turned 85 she sold his ladders. She suggested that I sell Attila’s ladders before he gets home.
Anyone in the market for a good five-foot ladder? It sounds like we might actually be getting a taller one.
