"What Does Not Kill You Will Only Make You Stronger"Or at least end up with your clumsy ass on crutchesWARNING! Harsh language alert! Must be the Tramadol talking.
Yes, I'm on crutches. Torn left calf muscle, and I'm high as a kite.
Here's what happened -
I'm doing some road work a little over a week ago, and I see this older gal sitting in her parked car with her face down on the steering wheel. "Oh, shit!" says I. "That ol' broad's havin' a cardiac!" I'm literally ready to SPRING
into action! Here's my big chance to put my official American Red Cross CPR Training to use.
How'd the first step go again? Hmm.. jab an index finger wildly about and sternly say; "YOU, call 911! YOU, do you know CPR!? One-and-two-and-three-and-four-and-five-and-BLOW!!"
I felt kinda like a super-hero. I even came up with my own snappy catch-phrase: Let's Go Save Some Lives.
All I need now is my own theme music.
Anyhow, all this crap went through my head in a span of about three seconds. And the whole damn time, I'm eyeballin' Grandma Moses to see if any new medical malady may have struck. And I'm also wondering of my Red Cross Lifesaving Card has any possible eventuality checked off. Stroke, rabies, gingivitis, Bubonic Plague, crabs... hell, I'm ready. I've been ready.
Little did I realize that in front of me was a crack in the sidewalk that gave about a half inch or so rise. And yes, I went ass over tea kettle. ARRRRGH!
To say I ripped the livin' shit outta my calf would be an understatement.
Of course, some Northern Transplant (sideways Mets cap and all) runs up to me was says as only a Brooklynite can say; "OH MY GWOD! I sawz da whole freakin' ting! Youze OK? I seen youz fwall down. Did it hoit? Gwod, it lookz like it hoits!"
My new friend, Vinnie (aren't they all named "Vinnie"?) ended up giving me a ride home. God bless his gold-chained wearin' Yankee ass.
But the coups de grâce
to my spaz-moment was when granny rolls down her window and croaks "You alright?" Through clenched teeth, I manage a smiling "No problem, I'm OK!" But I was thinking; "shit lady, out of common courtesy, you could at least have a friggin' mild
heart attack!" I still haven't figured out why her head was on her steering wheel.
And it took me a week and a day to finally go to the doctor. And yes, the doctor asked why it took so long for me to see him. My stereotypical answer; "hey, I'm a guy!
For whatever reason, he didn't find that as funny as I did.