When the phone rang I ran to answer it, still wearing the eyeglasses meant for sitting and reading, or sitting and driving. I was not reading or driving or sitting when I fell and crashed head first into the concrete counter top. And then to the floor, phone in hand.
“Uh, … hi,” I said into the cell phone, noticing my glasses in two pieces on the floor next to me. I also noticed my right arm and left knee were sore and there was a sharp pain coming from my right shoulder blade. From the throbbing in my head, I was sure I had a concussion.
I called my sister. The one who’s a doctor in Massachusetts, not the one who sends me gift-cards and recipes from Florida.
“Do you think I should go to the hospital?”
If you ask my sister a question she will answer you with a billion more questions.
“Did you black out? Do you have any memory loss of what happened before you fell or right after?” she began the interrogation. “Headache? Drowsiness? Confusion?” We went over exactly what happened. And the signs of trouble to watch for: headache, nausea, vomiting. She mentioned icing and heating and I wondered how I could tend so many different bruised places.
“You’re probably going to have a shiner by tomorrow,” she said. I thought of the black eye and changing landscape of my face when I broke my nose three years ago: the colors of oceans, then of summer grass, and finally a shade like wheat ready for harvest.
“Thanks, Doctor Botie. I hope you’re not going to charge me for your services today,” I said, thinking we were done.
“Who phoned?” she asked. Was she still assessing my mental status or was she just being nosey now?
“It was a telemarketer!” I said, suddenly remembering. Then right away I knew I had stumbled into this week’s blog post.