The Day I Almost Died - Again

I didn't write about this earlier because I'm a lazy pig.  And do nothing but sleep on the couch and ignore laundry and dishes.  And bathing myself.  (Which is actually perfect.  Because that new hair color I just got - semi permy dye - will last about 7 times as long as it would on a normal person who cares about their hygiene.)(I never said I wasn't good at getting the most bang for my buck.)

A few weeks ago the circus came to town.  In a way, it's a tad old fashion sounding, and that feels nice.  Until I think about the poor animals. And then I get mad and wish I was protesting with the other protesters.  Instead, I just sulk my way past sign holders and pretend I don't care about the poor elephants.

So Big D works down town - and knows about back alleys and secret parking spots, and all sorts of other non-family places and areas.  But he still likes to take his family there.

I'm not sure if it's because his brain doesn't work properly, or if it's because his brain doesn't work properly.  Still trying to figure it out over here - 9 years later.

The setting:
Pitch black.  Middle of the city.  Both kids with us.  Semi-full bellies.  Lots of farts.  Hidden stash of water in bottom of "diaper-bag".  Freezing.

Big D parked us in our semi-sketchy spot.  And we booked our bottoms to a more appropriate family location - the sidewalk.

And in true Big D fashion, he took us on a special off-the-grid hike.  The least beaten path, you could say.  The path where nobody else was in sight.  Because it was dark.  With no lights.

Honestly, it wasn't too bad.  We got to see all the trailers and trailers of the circus.  But then, ahead of us, a dark ominous figure appeared, and started waddling toward us.  Just one.  In the dark.

But it ended up just being a nice, fat circus helper telling us we couldn't continue our walk in the current direction.  Something about the horses being crazy.  And there in the distance I could see horses whizzing in circles.  I think they were fed crack.  I guess crack horses would be more exciting to watch.

So instead of Big D taking us on a more family-friendly trip around the VERY large building, he some how scrounged up an even more highly alarming, secret passage, short cut.

A secret passage that took us right by the opening of the old aqueduct, that now houses the homeless and addicts.  And in true Big D fashion, he thought it to be the most opportune time to have a family field trip.

Dear Jesus.

Big D was holding Ed.  And Murr was in his hand.  I stood back on the platform, in case something happened "I would be able to run and get help".  Yes, I really thought this.  And then I thought, "my goodness, you're being such a cantankerous panty wad.  Go have a field trip."

Yup, so I had a field trip.  I walked to the ledge of the old aqueduct.  And it was beautiful.  Well, I could imagine it was beautiful.  It was pitch black.  You could see through the windows on the other side.  But inside the actual aqueduct, it was the black that made your eyes ache.

I listened to Big D give his presentation.  I think it lasted about 20 seconds.

And then the voice of Satan appeared.  It was incomprehensible.  And loud. And so gravely, my ears got road rash.  It was oh, so close to my face, but invisible.

I was so startled.  And so angry.  I grabbed Murr's coat, picked her off her feet.  And threw her out onto the platform, grabbed her hand.  And when I say "high-tailed it".  Just imagine that to be an understatement.

Once I got to safety, I turned around to see where Big D was.  . . . . .  Big D, still holding my son - was still standing on the ledge - and I quote - "to try to see who was talking".

The rage.  Oh the rage.
1)  I knew this was going to happen.
2)  Why would you take your family to a very well-known sketchy area?
3)  Why would you just stand there asking to be dismembered, WHILE holding your son?
4)  Was Big D dropped on his head as a baby?

 And I have nothing else to say.  Except I survived my 2nd close brush with death.  

Maybe secretly I'm a cat.  I guess technically a Fox is close enough.

Life is Never Pretty

I felt hope.  I felt grateful.

And it came sweeping over me with such gentle surprise.

You see, I've been sinking.  We haven't been in the best health over here for a little while.  I shower once a week.  Literally.  I don't get dressed.  Heaps of dirty and clean laundry are scattered.  I think I vacuumed last in 2011.  The bottom of my white porcelain sink is orangy/brown.  We eat food out of boxes.  A new herd of fruit flies have moved in.  Big ones.  Twice the size of normal ones.  And they don't like my fruit fly trap.

My bathroom is ripped to shreds.  It has a functioning shower and toilet.  But no sink.  Which means nobody washes their hands anymore.  Nor do we brush our teeth.

The sheets on the bed?  Thank goodness Big D hasn't brought me "down-town" in awhile.  Otherwise we'd be sleeping in crunch.  Because that's how much I'm sinking.

There is no dinner.  There are no thoughts of dinner.

And sometimes I sleep.  And sometimes I don't.  It all depends on how gracious Ed is.  And if the stars align in their magical pattern.  And if "cozy" (his blanket) is perfectly perched upon body.  And if he can find his "hole" in blue.  And if pink cat is present, but not hogging his personal space.  And whether or not he needs to pee or have a drink.  Or a snuggle.

And that's just during the night.

The days are far worse.  With so much screaming and crying.

And Murnice fights me every second.  If I take two breaths, she's off and playing.  Because there is nothing more fanciful, than to play when there's school to do.  Elaborate and thorough games.

But today, as I was sitting, taking my daily, convulsive, diarrhea-squirt session, I felt it.  I felt a wave of gratitude.

I don't know where it came from.  Or why it decided to show up.  Or why it thought I was worthy.  But I really liked that fleeting moment.  I really liked feeling hopeful.

Honestly I didn't realize I was sinking this much, until I breathed fresh.

I wouldn't mind a prayer or two.

The end.

Bigger is Better, But Wisdom is Best

I knew it was going to happen.  Or at least I was prepared for when it did happen.

You see, one of my spiritual gifts happens to be intuition and discernment.  It's a blessing and a curse.  And maybe I'll talk more about that another time.

I became "aware" about two weeks ago.  It was a Friday night.  Friday Friend party night!!! . . . . . except I had a nervy feeling in my stomach about work the next morning.  (I run a swim lesson program)  I wasn't sure if I was just being a wench or my "feelings" were legit.

So I went exploring.  And my mind's eye came up with a picture.

In my home town there's this really neat family.  It's a pastor and his family.  And a couple of years ago they adopted 3 teenagers from the Ukraine.  Two of the kids come to swim lessons on Saturday, and one of those kids is a daredevil on the diving board.  He's good.  And fearless.  All the makings you need to be a diver.

My mind picture was of this daredevil hitting the diving board with his head.  He would need to be backboarded. And it was going to happen right at the end of swim lessons, when the whistle was blown.

I hated it.  But I prayed over it.  Asking God to please let that not happen.  But if he did, to please cover me in wisdom, as I would be the one to be making the calls.

I prayed real hard.  And I went over and over, in my head, the drill for backboarding a victim.  And nothing happened that Saturday.  And I breathed.

Fast forward to last night.  Having moved on from my nervy feelings . . . . I wasn't thinking about diving board accidents anymore.

Tuesday night is homeschool swim.  I bring Murnice and Ed for a lesson. Mother runs the program.  Sometimes I lifeguard.  Sometimes I teach a lesson.  Last night I lifeguarded.  Mother was playing with Ed in the shallow end while she chatted with me.  The whistle blew to signal the end of class.  And the divingboard made a horrific sound.

I looked up to see 3 adults rush to the divingboard.  I knew somebody had hit it.  And then saw that it had been B.B. Bobby.  He was at the edge of the pool.  Which was a good sign that he could move.  I started yelling "DID HE HIT THE BOARD" as I ran down to the deep end.

After about the fifth time of asking the question, somebody finally said "yes, he split his head".

B.B.Bobby is out of the pool at this point, bent over, blooding running down his face.  I take this all in as I grabbed the backboard and start ripping the velcro to shreds.

I'm yelling out commands, "CALL 911" and "HELP ME GET HIM ON THE BACKBOARD".

Immediately about 5 adults surrounded me and start yelling at me, "HOW DO WE HELP?"

This is funny to me.  You know how in fast moving events, its blurred?  So I wonder if what I was saying was actually making sense to bystanders?  And then I wonder if I even answered their questions?  Or if I just did it myself?

I remember throwing my hands up in the air at one point because I couldn't even get to all the straps because there were so many people surrounded him - supporting and gauzing and evaluating.

And then he was finally on the board, properly.  Strapped.  Immobilized.  He was nauseous and dizzy.  And then there's ice.

B.B.Bob was breathing and conscious.  The ambulance was on their way.  And then I realized, Ed was missing.  I didn't see him anywhere in the mass of people.  I yelled real loud.  Three times.  "WHERE'S MY SON".

And there he was.  Wrapped in a towel, sitting.  By Murnice.  Guarded by the lovliest mom.  She shared herself.  Her time.  While others took care of her children.

And then we waited.

I kept going over check lists in my head of what needed to be done.  I not only needed to observe the happenings with B.B.Bobby, but there was paper work, and disinfecting, and kids that needed to be taken care of, and dazed parents that needed to be walked step by step through simple directions - such as how to get dressed, a pool to generally organize and lock up, cars and belongings to collect and be driven back to Mothers - since she was going on the ambulance ride, and organizing helpers to stand in the parking lot to direct the ambulance to the correct door.  Since Father wasn't answering the phone he needed to be personally got, along with warm clothes and cell phones. And phone calls to later evening funs had to be cancelled. 

I am amazed.  I am grateful to the helpfulness of all.  From sitting with smaller children to lending underwear.  Standing in the cold outdoors with just a bathing suit to guide the EMS to cleaning up the blood bath.  To covering in prayers and not leaving his side with jokes.

I was covered.  I had already prayed 2 weeks before.  Wisdom.  It was the most perfect, worst accident the pool of 30+ years has seen.

8 staples.  No headache.  Nothing broken/fractured/sprained.  Bloody and bruised, yes.  His hands are very tender and swollen.  And they are the worst of it, pain wise.

I believe with all my heart that that accident was meant for the daredevil diver.  I believe with all my heart that my prayer changed what was meant to be.  And God was gracious and so perfect.

My heart is full of Thanksgiving.