Last Wednesday night I had a terrible accident. I slipped on the tile and rug in my bathroom. My front teeth went almost through my top lip, I cracked my nose, my hand, my knee and my foot. I broke the nail on my right toe, almost to the bottom. There was blood everywhere. It looked like a scene out of a horror movie as if the slasher had just run out of the apartment, however, the woman in the bathroom was somehow still alive. Now, anyone who has known me for most of my life knows that this accident isn’t at all unusual for me. I take after my father’s mother who tripped constantly. My grandfather just learned to follow her around and he held on to her most of their married life. Actually, when my grandfather had a heart attack and he went into the hospital my grandmother had to walk on her own and she fell and hit her head and that is what led to her death. I somehow managed to scoot on my fanny out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. There, next to the bed, was my cell phone. The bedroom door was shut as my children, my “was-band’ and all of our pets were visiting for Thanksgiving. I used my cell phone to call my oldest son who was in the opposite side of the apartment in the guest room. My two sons and lastly my ex came into the bedroom. Were they shocked and upset at seeing their mother on the floor with blood all over her? Well, not as much as one would have imagined. My ex looked annoyed. The boys looked perplexed, as if they were thinking, “What do we have to do now? And, “There she goes again.” My youngest son decided to call an ambulance. I was so sore, I really couldn’t move. I think I might have been in shock.
Actually, in what seemed like record time, three young, handsome, men, arrived (in maybe 4 minutes?) I was instantly picked up and put on a stretcher, covered up and whisked into the elevator and into the ambulance. They asked me questions and I answered … I believe they wanted to make sure that I was in my right mind and hadn’t had a stroke. As we entered the hospital emergency room the one young man called out, “ A 66-year-old woman arriving with serious facial contusions” As usual, I looked around for that poor old 66-year-old woman who had just entered the hospital. Oh God, once again, I remembered, … that’s me, he’s talking about. I’m that 66-year-old woman. Heck, I couldn’t say my usual phase, “Now, you are supposed to say that I look a lot younger than 66?” I couldn’t say that because I looked like, Hell! I probably looked more like a 99-year-old woman. I was lifted onto a hospital bed and immediately put on an IV in my left arm. I am writing this, seven days after the fact and I now have a large very interesting bruise in the shape of a heart, with what looks like an arrow extending from the heart, where the IV used to be. The nurse checked my blood pressure and breathing and placed stickers on my now purple chest, to check my heart. A nice, strong, looking, policewoman was in the room next to my bed. She was kind and she seemed more worried for me than my family had been. I must have looked very bad. After I was settled in and had answered scores of questions my ex had arrived. The policewoman looked concerned and she asked, “Someone is here to see you. Do you want me to let him in or not?” “Yes”, I answered unenthusiastically. I was secretly amused because I realized she thought that he might be the culprit who had beaten me to a pulp. (Mentally, in the past, I thought to myself, but not physically.) Okay, we often get along but I’m human and I’m tired of playing the saint, so sometimes I still want to stick it to him. Especially, when he looks tired and bored and I look like death in a hospital bed. When the policewoman saw him I believe she changed her mind. He is a 5’8” slim, Frenchman, wearing nice clothes, with sliver hair who resembles, Peter Sellers. So much for me accusing him of abuse. I stopped seeing him in prison stripes begging for my help behind bars. I just saw a tired 61-year-old man who was wishing he could be asleep in bed.
Well to make this long story shorter. The young woman doctor ordered an MRI and they found out that I had a broken nose. I was kept in the emergency room until about 4:30 A.M. because I was dehydrated and I needed two bags of fluids dripped into my 66-year-old veins from my IV. They also gave me a tetanus shot. One week later, I still have a bruise and now a hot, red, lump, on my left arm, as a remembrance of that fateful night, before Thanksgiving.
For four days everything hurt and I was in a lot of pain. I had made most of the Thanksgiving dinner during the day, a few hours, before the fall. My oldest son, who is a good cook, made the turkey and the stuffing. My youngest son, the day after my fall, said to me, “Well, for someone who destroyed her face, you don’t look too bad.”
So, that is my “I fell and I can’t get up story.” What did I learn from this? You might be asking? Well, don’t expect much sympathy from your ex and two adult boys. However, they are there and even if they don’t want to be there, they have to help you, no matter what, because they are family.
Someday, I have a dream, that there might be a kind, thoughtful, generous, handsome, man, in my future. He will ply me with lots of Champagne and sympathy … (I don’t care for tea) and he will hang onto my arm and he will be there so I don’t slip and fall. Until that day, I am going to try to be careful. At least I will try.
Until Next Week…
Is There Sex After 60? (Navigating Single Life After 60) 