Have you ever heard the expression "can't chew gum and cross the street at the same time"? Well I am pretty sure that phrase was coined because of me. When I was thirteen I was hit by a car as I crossed the street. I know, I know. Pretty dumb.
I am pretty sure it hurt, but I don't remember the pain. My BFF was with me and she kept me pretty calm and stabilized.
When the paramedics arrived I was impressed by the sirens and flashing lights. Did I mention I was in shock? Well I was. I even joked with Paramedic #1, "Aw, you shouldn't have. You didn't have to do all this for me." He did find me humorous.
We traded quips back and forth for a few moments. "Kelly are you doing okay?" "Sure, you should see the other guy."
"Can you feel this." was answered only by my screams. I still hear them in my dreams at night. Okay, so I really don't but that sounded more dramatic.
I kept trying out my comedy act until I heard Paramedic #1 ask Paramedic #2 for scissors at which point I shot into a sitting position. Well it was more of a grunt and shove than a shot, but you get the picture. It seems my shock filled brain immediately understood that Paramedic #1 was going to use those scissors for no good. Plus I was wearing my one and only pair of designer jeans. The jordache jeans that I had coveted for almost a year that had been a gift the Christmas before.
Paramedic #2 kindly explained that due to the swelling of my leg they would need to cut the jeans off. This sent me into a state of agitation as I tried to convince both of them that I could indeed remove my jeans the old fashioned way. (Did I mention I had sustained three breaks to my right leg and one was a compound?)
Paramedic #2 tried to soothe me as Paramedic #1 worked his black magic with those scissors the whole time promising me that he would not cut any more than he had to. I remember I was just about to give him a piece of my mind when I looked down and caught a glimpse of the newly revealed broken leg, at which time I promptly fainted.
5 comments:
Oh, dear. I empathize completely; not with the broken leg part, but with the designer jean part. I was the only girl in my class who didn't own a pair. My first pair was Carabine'...
You left out the most important part: did you get another pair????
(Gloria Vanderbilt, with my name in gold embroidery on the back pocket)
Oh, how us girls can relate! Paramedics can NOT understand the importance of Jordache! What a funny story (now...not so funny then).
Oh, the perspective of a 13 year old girl! At least you could wear designer jeans. I was too tall. ;)
Ack!! Sorry, I can't get the image of your broken leg out of my head, not even for a pair of designer jeans. Ouchie!
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