I did not put "getting a concussion" on our list of things to do this summer. Turns out I should have. Yesterday, in our familiar flurry to get out the door (Callum has tennis camp at his school this week), I slipped on some water on a tile floor and hit my head on a brick wall going down. As you can see, I hit some other things too. (That's an ice pack on the huge lump on my shin, by the way.)
Everything went dark for a second, and Callum tells me I said, "whoa." My immediate thought when I realized what happened was that somehow I needed to get Callum to camp. It was time to leave right now. Funny how your mind shifts to the important stuff, hmm? Poor Callum called Neel and helped me get upstairs to change clothes (I'd landed in the dogs' water dish) before cleaning up the mess, and I learned yet again that sometimes what is planned is not what is meant to be.
Neel got Callum off to camp, and I spent the day hunkered down, feeling queasy and sore. And still it was a good day. I was well tended to. My friend Jean, who had been outside when Neel came to get Callum, called to check in on me and brought me Tylenol for all my aches and pains. (Apparently ibuprofin, which my scientist husband had suggested I take, could cause bleeding in my brain...) I checked in with Catherine, whose baby I was supposed to watch for a bit yesterday, and she promptly hugged me and sent me back to bed. I called my friend Beck to ask the favor which we'd jovially declared we'd never need. Could she pick Callum up from camp for me? Sure enough, even though she wasn't feeling great herself, she was right there. Later that afternoon, at Callum's request, Nurse Rebecca came by with the diagnosis, advice and sweet concern.
So really, what more could a woman ask for (besides not to have a big lump on her head or the lingering headache)? When I needed it, everyone around me, all my dear dear loved ones stepped in...all I had to do was ask. I'm not good at the asking part. I don't like to do it one bit. But any and all of these things I'd do ten million times over for any of these guys, and there's no greater gift than knowing that they'd do and have done the same for me.
In the car to get Callum (I rode along; I just didn't want to drive.), I said to Beck, "Thank you SO much for helping me out today."
"It's no problem," she told me.
"I know it's not," I said, "but that doesn't mean I'm not grateful."
So here we are, sore as all heck, but not as queasy. Neel woke me (per Rebecca's instruction) a few times last night, and I think I'll live. Feeling luckier than before.