How I Almost Killed Myself
I almost killed myself — or so I thought, at first. After Wednesday’s power outage (100 minutes, no power, 97 degrees, THANK you, BGE… that’s how they do it each summer… “OH NO! THE GOVERNOR NEEDS ICE CUBES! SHUT DOWN THE TRAILER PARKS!“)
Excuse me. I was ranting and rambling.
Anyway, the power outage killed my son’s cable box. So Gail took it down to the Comcast place and swapped it out for a new one. And since TJ has a HDTV now, we decided to cough up the extra $7 to get him HD service.
I gave him our old cable box and was trying to put in the new one on our tv. I tried to get down on the floor, but as I was doing so, I fell and stabbed myself on my left side, just below the ribs, on the corner of the doggy toy box. It’s a canvas box with a metal frame, and I was certain I had impaled myself liver-deep on the damn thing because I COULD NOT MOVE to get off of it. When I finally COULD roll to the floor, I just laid there in extreme pain while Gail stood over me asking, “What did you do? What did you do?” (Note: She did not ask “what happened?” She asked “What did you do,” indicating that I had done something stupid and was suffering the just consequences of my action. It was a fair assumption, so I’m not complaining.)
It was a few moments before I could speak. I asked Gail to lift up my shirt and tell me how much of my intestines were protruding. Gladly, the answer was “none.” I have a dinky little “owie” on my left side, under my ribs, and it hurts. Might bruise a little.
Ah. Parkinson’s disease. You are the tricky one!