A Close Shave - near death by door

On Friday, everything was going swimmingly. I was kicking goals at work, and excited that one of my dear friends was visiting from overseas. We were going to pick up the keys to my new flat and move my stuff. In the evening I was going to go to a silver-themed warehouse party and had my Beyonce-inspired outfit all worked out (pretty much a 50s housewife but with a giiiiinormous do-rag made out of aluminium foil). But… disaster struck when I was happily riding along on Shazam – a woman opened her car door and I bounced off the door and tumbled to the ground. Hard. I think it was at that moment I started shouting, ‘M**therf**ker, I have to move house!’ repeatedly. Two bystanders came to my rescue and I lay on the footpath feeling queasy and fainty and I think I went into shock.

The strange thing was when they asked me if they could call anyone I immediately said, ‘No.’ They asked me again and I said it again. I’m not sure why I kept on saying it. Perhaps because I didn’t want it to ruin my day and was hoping to continue on as normal, or perhaps it was because I think of myself as an independent woman and didn’t want to bother anyone. After a few more rounds of this question I realised that a few phone calls had to be made and moments later I had one of my girls by my side telling me everything was going to be okay. This made me feel a bit teary but I held it togther. The super-relaxed ambos turned up about 15 minutes later and after an inspection said I was free to go. I then asked ‘What about my knee?’ and they cut away my tights and said ‘Oh. Looks like you might need a few stitches in that.’ and off I went to the hospital.

I couldn’t believe how laid back and hilarious the staff were in the hospital. I guess you have to be like that in ER. The fun began with the administering of the local and the stitching. Man, it hurt. I swore a lot and the doctor looked at me and said, ‘I think you’re freaking out.’ No shit, lady! I realise I am not stoic and am an absolute bloody wimp. After a couple of hours of x-rays and prodding I was sent home all wobbly and sore and have lots of impressive bruises popping up. My casa de cono wives tucked me up in bed, provided me with my favourite Indian takeaway and I spent the evening entertained by my friends. When the lights were out I allowed myself to shed a tear and then had the replay of events happen. I know this is common for anyone who has had a traumatic experience but it was bloody awful. All I kept on thinking about was that I could actually have died. Imagine?! Jeezus.

But Saturday dawned and I was still alive and safe and so freakin’ sore. My friends rallied round and still managed to move me into my new flat. This weekend has been amazing in realising how many friends I have who are there for me when the shit hits the fan. As much as I loathe asking for help, I never need worry, as help will always be there. Makes me all teary just thinking about how lucky I am. Tonight my brother and his family took me food shopping then back to their house to feed me and change my dressings. Gross. When my brother dropped me back at my new place he said, ‘Well, here you are. Your first night. I guess you’re going to get scared. See ya!’ Thanks, bro. Spoken like a true sibling.

I have now decided to retire Shazam for the foreseeable future. I’m way too freaked out to get back on the road. As much as I love her, she’s just going to have to be patient until I get my confidence back. At the moment, I really can’t see that happening any time soon, especially when I look at my swollen knee.