It is hard to believe that as recently as ten years ago everyone did not carry a cell phone everywhere they went, but I know it is true because I did not have a cell phone with me when the accident occurred. That is why I had to meet my new neighbors for the first time covered in blood and paint to ask for the use of a phone. When my husband and I bought our house, it was a bit of a fixer-upper. We very smartly kept renting our old house for a month after we bought our new house so we could get some big messy projects done and be able to move in comfortably. My husband, Mike, was tiling the entire house, closing the back ramada in for a catio (patio for indoor cats) and building a hearth for the fireplace. I was painting every wall in the house a different and very bold color. I know, but this is our dream home. However, I was falling behind. For completely logistic purposes, it made sense for me to paint the rooms halfway between Mike’s work of tiling. He would tear out the carpets and prep his floor for the Saltillo, then I would paint the walls without concern for little spills and drips falling on the subfloor and then he would lay the tile and cove base. The problem we were having is that he was a professional tile installer and I was a bit slower at painting. Even though he was working his full time day job and only working on our house in the evenings, I was still seriously behind. So, we decided to call in some help. Several of my friends agreed to come and help for a day or a wall so I could catch up to Mike.
On the day of the accident my friend Kris was going to be joining me. She and I thought we could get the living room and dining room completed in one devoted day. I still had the top of one wall left to finish in the den so, I got there an hour before I was expecting her, to go ahead and wrap that up. Step one, set up extension ladder over the top of the window. Step two, fill tray with bright yellow paint and climb the ladder brush in hand. Step three, paint happily for about 15 minutes completely unaware of impending agony. Step four, experience strange sinking feeling in my stomach akin to riding a rolling coaster. I was only briefly aware that the ladder was falling before my head slammed into the wall in front of me and knocked me out cold. As it turns out the ladder didn’t so much fall as it did ride down the wall all the way to the floor, someone apparently did not set the ladder the right direction. You could be one of those nitpicky perfectionists and refer back to step one, or you could take my word for it that I am pretty sure it wasn’t my fault. The first time I tried to wake up, I was half under the ladder half awkwardly draped over the ladder and my head was resting in orange paint, not yellow. You know because red and yellow…The second time I woke up I must have had a great deal of success, but I don’t recall any of it. The third time I woke up I was sitting outside on a chair in our soon-to-be-a-catio ramada fully conscious and covered with injuries.
I began a quick assessment by wiggling my toes and feet, ankles and knees…wait I must have walked out here, right? So, my legs must work. I went ahead and stood up to prove my theory. Ow. Ow. Ow. My head. It is my head that hurts. I feel it, it is very painty and bloody. Now what? Call Kris, tell her I might like to go to the hospital. I don’t have a phone, nor is there one hooked up at the house yet. (We wanted to keep the same number so I have to call the phone company when we are ready for the switch-over day.) Well, I can walk if I stand up slower so, let’s go meet my new neighbors!!! I am unaware at this point that I am pretty much covered in blood, my left shoulder and elbow are completely dislocated putting my shoulder sort of in my ear, my left arm is broken in two places, there is a giant swollen gash across my forehead and for strictly slapstick effect, a paint key sticking out of my shin.
Ding dong. “Hello, who is it?” comes the thickly New York accented voice of my neighbor named, like my husband, Mike. “Uh, hi..it’s your new neighbor, we bought the house next door and I have had a little bit of an accident. I was wondering if I could use your phone.” Neighbor Mike, a person who along with his wife, Gale, we have come to like, trust and thoroughly enjoy living next door to, opens the door and calmly holds his hand up over his mouth while slowly shaking his head. “Yeah, Yeah, come in sit down, let me get you a phone…anything else, some water?” That would be great, I say and maybe a couple of aspirin. Mike brings me all these things and listens while I tell Kris that I am at my neighbor’s, I’ve had a little accident and maybe she could take me to the hospital because I rode my bike. After my conversation with Kris, neighbor Mike hits redial. He explains to Kris that he has never met me before, that maybe I am always this calm, but that he is pretty sure I am in shock and he would like to take me to the hospital immediately and maybe she could meet us there. He wrapped my head in a clean towel, put an ice pack on my shoulder, even ran over to my house to lock it up, I told him I thought my keys were in the den and then loaded me up to get to the emergency room.
On the way over to the hospital he asked what happened. I tell him what I think happened. He says he is pretty unlucky sometimes, too. He works as a private remodel contractor and has seen a few accidents. He shows me his hand that is missing a few sections of finger. I say so you’re kinda used to this sort of stuff. He looks at me and laughs and says, “Well no, not this exactly.” Kris meets us at the hospital and Mike passes me over to her expert care. Expert meaning that she has been my friend long enough that she knows I get injured a good deal and she can usually laugh about it with me and maybe a little bit at me. If you ever want to just blaze right through the emergency room the words to have your friend write on the form are “I am relatively sure that I hit my head and blacked out for a while.” Gets you in lightning fast.
Later, neighbor Mike stopped over to see how I was doing, to meet my husband and to let us thank him profusely. The three of us walked around the scene of the incident to piece it together. We glanced around the den, there was a lot of blood on the window, window frame and sill, but the window hadn’t broken. There were even etched marks in the glass where the ladder scraped, but did not break the glass. Most frightening is the mark right next to the window turn latch where my bloody unconscious head apparently whapped a second time, only a fraction of an inch from the window turn key latch. We are all standing around marveling at how lucky I really was, how it could have been worse, how fortuitous it was that neighbor Mike was home on a weekday…when he looks down and says, “Have you been a painter long?” I say yes, that I am an artist, have been all my life. He points out that I put my brush back in the water (must have been during that successful second awakening). I say, “Well yeah, that’s 12 dollar trim brush, cuts in freehand on these old adobe walls like butter. It would have been a tragedy to ruin it.” Neighbor Mike laughs and says he’s pretty sure we’re going to get along fine.
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