Sandy Supposes....

An Accident Creates the Perfect Excuse

PROMPT: Wildcard Thursday! How did you get out of something you were obligated to do?

         In my experience, a perfectly timed accident, one with bodily injury, makes the perfect get-out-of-whatever excuse/pass. A sense of obligation/duty is trumped by sympathy/pity/concern. There are no expectations of a hurtin' human; no explanations, no apologies either. It is considered callous to question the commitment of an 'accidentee'. The injured party already has enough suffering to deal with.

          Many years of limping ago, I was a devoted, diligent Girl Guide leader determined to lead by example. . The entire troop had committed to participate in the local Santa Claus Parade. It was to be an opportunity to showcase our organization; our enthusiasm, our civic pride, our boundless energy, our positive girl-power. Despite the miles-long route and the fickleness of Canadian weather, I anticipated walking along with 'my' girls. I could grin grimace and bear it if they could. It was slated to be a few hours sacrifice on a Saturday afternoon.

         As I mentioned earlier, timing is everything. Just the evening before my forced march, my basement stairs and I tussled. ( I hesitate to describe it as an attack. I'm not convinced that the steps bore me any ill will. I also chose to traverse the stairs of my own free will; I wasn't coerced, coaxed, or lured.) More accurately, my socks and the stairs got into it. One minute I was descending the steps one at a time, the next moment I was semi-sprawled on the cement floor with my right foot suspended at an impossible angle above my head. That sock had snagged the metal edge along the step; is this not the 'riser'? Huh, I wasn't rising quickly. It was more of a 'surpriser'.

          For a brief second, I envisioned a member of my family stumbling upon my emaciated body in the future, when and only when their need for clean clothing drove them to seek the wondrous washer. My survival instincts kicked in, and I struggled to free myself. I was most baffled by the response, or more correctly the lack of response from that hooked foot. I remember distinctly commanding my right foot to pull itself away from the snag; tear the sock. Nothing happened. My foot could/would not obey. Painful contortions were necessary before my hands released my throbbing foot.

         The contusions were still fresh as I crawled back upstairs. Lucky for me hubby was home to chauffeur me to the nearest emergency room where we endured hours of waiting for treatment.

         The diagnosis revealed that all or most of the ligaments and tendons had been severed and/or sprained/strained in my driving foot. I was offered two treatment solutions; choose to clomp around in a heavy, restrictive plaster cast, or opt for a removeable, light weight boot cast. Hey, I'd experienced the discomforts of plaster casts at other memorable moments in my life, and the boot cast would be a unique option, so I chose it.( This would be fortuitous because I ended up wearing this apparatus two more times. It was money well-spent,)

         So, this is my tale of woe. The Frankenstein'ish foot restrainer gave me a rolling gait not compatible with the long hike of a parade. My accident exempted me from my obligation, but I don't recommend this drastic recourse to anyone.