Don't Tread On Me ~aka~ I'll Shove This Shopping Cart Where The Sun Don't Shine!

Here's the winning Sawdust and Cowpies blog post from what MUST be my long lost sister... Judy T. I've never met the woman... but my God... do we live parallel lives! lol

So, it's my story now folks.... here's how it alllllll happened to me!

I had to modify it in a few spots to make it all mine. Other spots... heck I just left it cause it made me laugh.

Jace
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Okay, so ya know how sometimes one (meaning me) does things so routinely that it becomes nature? And when that routine thing just doesn’t routinely happen, you just stand there scratching your head wondering just how did that happen? No? Well, let me give you an example:



Act I, Scene I

So one dark and dreary night in late February I picked up my grandson from school so he can help me pack away my Dickens’ Christmas Village that has been out since Christmas, just because he loves it so much and every week so sweetly asks to please leave it up one more week. So I get most of that chore done before his Mom calls and says she’s home and it’s okay to bring him by. So the one night you’re in sweats, red socks, pink top, (I dress like this a lot actually) you think “what can happen between here and his home one mile away”, so you dare to walk out of the house in that attire.



Act I, Scene II

So I get to his parking lot and the security gate is locked and I call my daughter and tell her to come out to the gate and get him cuz there’s not an empty space in the “open” lot. I put the vehicle in park behind the last parked car to wait and then see in your mirror somebody two spots back is backing out of their space so I tell my grandson “Don’t open the door because cars are coming through, I’ll come over and let you out.” And I pull forward to give them more room, hop out, run behind the car, go to open his door and realize the car is slowly moving forward!

So I RUN to the front of the car, brace my legs, put my hands on the front of the car (did I mention this car is an Explorer??), and try to hold it back until somebody notices the mess you’re in and comes to help. Even though the car is just barely rolling, I realize it is reaching a downhill slope and I am just not strong enough to hold back this two-ton vehicle. So I run back around the car, open my car door, try to jump in only to realize I am not tall enough, nor athletic enough, to jump in and stop it -- just as I am landing back on my feet next to the vehicle.



Act I, Scene III



I'm coming out of a sleep with a huge weight rolling over your right ankle, continuing over my left knee, unsure of how or why you are where you are. Oh, oh, it’s coming back, quick, jump up before somebody sees where you are and what you’ve done. Somehow, I fall after your feet landed back on the pavement. Oh my God my Grandson is in that car that is slowing rolling down the driveway heading right toward a tree and an apartment building!!!

“Mom, Mom, Mom, what happened?” says my daughter coming from the passenger side of the car. By this time I'm feeling a little light headed and sit down on the curb.

“I don’t know but I think my leg is bleeding” as I pull up my pant leg to reveal a purple patch all up and down my leg from the ankle to as far up as you can see.”

“Oh, we need to get you to the hospital, let me get Bradley.”

Unbeknownst to me, she was coming out of the gate when she saw you run behind the moving car and realized what was happening and ran to the vehicle, jumped into the passenger door and was able to stop it right before it started it’s fully downward plunge into the tree/apartment. Meanwhile the car who was backing out of its space that I so cordially moved forward for, pulls up and starts yelling at me to get in her car so she can take me to the hospital or else she is going to call 911 to have an ambulance come, which, much to my dismay, alerts my daughter that I just got run over.

I thought I could pass it off as just a fall. Heroically, I insist I don’t need any medical care and finally have to scream at her to leave you alone.

At this point the daughter’s boyfriend asks if I want him to back my car out of there for me – he had just pulled in, didn’t see anything happen, just saw how my car was in a spot with less than 2 inches between it and a parked car. He’s seen me drive – he knew I couldn’t back it out of there for any amount of money, but he couldn’t figure out how I got it so close to the other one or how I got out.

Long story short, boyfriend takes me back to daughter’s apartment in his vehicle still unaware of what had happened, and is getting mighty pissy (to word it nicely!!) about why I couldn’t drive there myself. Meanwhile, daughter and grandson walk back to apartment, and it’s agreed I need to go to the emergency room and boyfriend, now understanding what happened, agrees to stay with grandson.



Act II, Scene I



Pull into the hospital’s emergency room parking lot – not an empty spot in sight. Daughter tells me to get out by the ER doors, she’ll park the car, and be right in. So I go in, get signed in, and stand against the wall as I look around, realizing it’s going to be a very long wait – not an empty chair in sight, and people standing around everywhere.

Suddenly a lady appears and asks me if I want a wheelchair to sit in. Me, in a wheelchair?? Not on your life, so I politely tell her I'm fine. “No,” she says, “I think you need to sit down before you fall down” and brings a chair for me to sit in. Daughter comes in, I sit and wait for a few minutes.

The nice lady from before comes over to see how I am doing and I mention that my leg feels like it is bleeding rather badly but there isn’t any blood. She responds that she’s not a nurse, just a comforter who makes sure everybody is doing alright while waiting their turn, but she will go in and tell them how I feel. Next thing you know, a guy is coming out to get me and I can feel daggers being thrown in my direction from everybody who has been waiting much longer. So he takes me into a little area and looks at my leg and says, “So, what happened.” I look at him, and burst into tears, (I'm an easy cryer lol) “I … I … I could have killed my grandson.”

Looks of astonishment from everybody around, until my daughter says, “He’s OK, he’s with Terry, and he’s OK, he didn’t get hurt, he’s OK.” So I calm down some and tell him a little bit about what happened; then the doctor comes in and says, “I know you just went through this with the PA, but can you tell me what happened, too?” So I go through it again. They look at the leg, ask if I have any other injuries, tell them "my ankle hurts", they pull back my sock, and say, “Oh, yea, you need some work there.” So they all go behind me, and I hear most, but not all, of the conversation,

“Should we rack him?”

I say to my daughter, “Oh, my God, I died; they’re taking me to the morgue.”

“I don’t think that’s what that means, Mom.”

“No, no, that’s what they say when you die and they take you to the morgue; I’ve already died.”

“Wait until they come back, we’ll find out what it means.”

Another voice from behind: “Maybe we should take her across the street.”

Across the street??? That’s the library .. and it’s closed!!! “Heidi, why do they want me to go the library? To get a book to read cuz it’s going to be a long wait?”

“I don’t know, Mom, they’ll be back soon and let us know what the plans are.”

So they come back, explain how busy they are, and that they’re going to take me to the urgent care center across the street because they’re not busy and can spend more time with me. So out I go, in my ever-trusty wheelchair, and on over to the urgent care.



Act II, Scene II

X-rays, clean-up, stitches, everything goes pretty smoothly. The doctors and nurses are astonished how well I'm doing and if I weren’t doing so good, we would take me back and admit you for observation, but "you’re doing so well even though you’re going to be one sore little puppy tomorrow, so here’s some prescriptions to get filled tonight, and be sure and take them, because tomorrow morning when you wake up, you’re really going to be hurting."

I'm doing really well, keep it up.

So daughter leaves to go get the car to come back and pick me up. I decide I don’t want her walking by herself through the parking lot because when my brother was in the hospital in Florida one night a lady left after visiting with her husband, and got jumped in the parking lot, her purse stolen, etc., and that’s not going to happen to my daughter.

So I follow her out, even though I can barely walk and have to tippy-toe after her, and she’s far enough ahead that she can’t hear me call her name. So she gets to the car, starts down the hill, just as I come out from between two rows of cars – want to make sure she sees me so I get in the middle of the road, hold up your two hands, and yell, “Put it in park, you’re on an incline.”

Get in the car, daughter shaking her head, “I can’t believe you just did that.”





Act III, Scene I



Drive around looking for a 24-hour pharmacy. Find one that’s not in a real good area of town, not real bad, but not the best. Daughter says to wait while she goes in to fill the prescription. Can’t have her walking in there on her own, so I get out of the car and follow behind. She’s waiting at the pharmacy counter while some “cowboy” to say it nicely, can’t understand why he has to pay for a prescription when he insists he has insurance, but no job, and is new to “the area” (read: from south of the border), etc.

Daughter sees me coming and tells me to go around the corner and sit down and wait until she’s done. Like the dutiful mother (lol) that I am, I do so.

Oh, oh – room is spinning.

I know I'm going to pass out. Call daughter who can’t hear me. Don’t want to fall on my face, so I sliiiiiiiiiide to the floor, oh, yea, you’re going out.

Wake up, daughter and security guard looking down at me. Pretty embarrassed. Start to get up, woops, going out again.

Wake up to “He'd better get up or I’m calling the police.” Realize he thinks I've had a little too much to drink, try to tell him you’re not drunk but can’t get their attention or the words out.

Man, this floor is dirty.

Oh, oh, I'm going to get sick, now he’ll really think I've been drinking. Heidi, why aren’t you telling him I’m NOT drunk?

Finally get the words/motions out that I'm getting sick so the pharmacist gets a plastic bag for me, nausea passes, use bag as pillow, just want to sleep.

“I’M NOT KIDDING – I’M GOING TO CALL THE POLICE IF SHE DOESN’T GET UP.”

“Mom (lol again), please, can you just sit on the chair until I’m done?” Ok – think I can manage that now.

Oh, oh, she’s done with what she needed to get, now I have to get back to the front of the store and out the door. Too far, too weak. Finally lean over a shopping cart and sort of roll towards the front.

“You can’t take that shopping cart out of the store.”

“Can’t you see how bad she’s feeling?? I’ll bring it right back.”

“YOU ARE NOT TAKING A SHOPPING CART OUT OF THIS STORE.”

“Just watch me – and you won’t have a job after tomorrow you callous *******.”

Security guard helps me into parking lot, into car, “You feel better real soon now, miss.”



Epilogue:



About a year later, Grandson, who has since learned to read, is in a car with a good family friend. They drive past the local auto center and he sees a street sign: My Ford Road. “Jen, Jen, look at that sign, Mema should move on to that street, then she can say, “I live on My Ford Road and my Ford rode right over me.”





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