Okay, here's what I know. I know that I'm getting married in 16 days and that I am most definitely ready for it mentally, emotionally, and every other way. I'm just not ready. Things aren't done, people have no clue what's going on, and we haven't even picked processional music. I mean, for the love of a pink cocker spaniel, I can't even fathom how I'm going to finish planning in a little more than two weeks. AHHHHH!
*violently rips a massive chunk of hair out of scalp* - Oh, that's okay, I have plenty, thanks.
At five o'clock Tuesday, I had no idea what was coming. I mean, it's one thing to not know what you're going to eat for dinner, but it's an entirely different thing to not know . . . well, you'll see what I mean. Here's a short timeline of Tuesday night.
1700 - I pick up John Drga (one of the students I'm praying for this semester) in front of the dorm. We can't pick a place to have dinner, so we randomly drive up to Bellacino's and order grinders and ice cream. I rush back to school so I can pick up Vanessa and Ben by 1830 - we're headed to Emily and Stephen's final band concert of the year. Good times ahead...
1855 - I've dropped off John, picked up Vanessa and Ben, and arrived at the auditorium where the band is playing. I find a seat beside Vanessa and then realize that I drank too much Vault (Get to it!) at Bellacino's - can't believe they put that stuff on tap. Well, it definitely kicks like an energy drink.
1900 - The band begins to play their selections. There's this girl sitting in the back of the band playing a tuba. She taps her foot the entire time - for some reason, it's all I can hear. Emily makes a speech to Mr. Bailey - she snaps her fingers (I don't know why I notice that). Oh yeah, Stephen has just made me sick by performing on 3 instruments in less than 30 minutes. The kid definitely has a problem.
2015 - The band is finished and I am on my way back to the college to drop Ben off at his dorm. He says goodbye and Vanessa and I head to my house. Time for some relaxation, and maybe ice cream.
2030 - No ice cream for us, but V drinks some tea and I get changed. Everyone gets home and we prep to head out the door. She has to be back by 2200 so I figure it's time for some Starbucks before she has her meeting. Emily didn't get to go anywhere after her last concert, so I offer to buy her a drink (obviously non-alcoholic).
2130 - We've been through Starbucks and are on our way back to school. I drop Vanessa off and enjoy my ride back to the house with Emily.
2200 - Emily and I make what could possibly be the most foolish choice of the entire evening and decide to go jump on the trampoline.
2230 - I attempt a front flip without using my hands (a dangerous move for a person of my limited mobility and physique). I move quickly to attempt a backflip.
2231 - My backflip ends in what appears to be a whale flop. Meanwhile, my sister moves into position to attempt her backflip. Her first attempt lands her on her butt two feet behind where she started.
2232 - I make the second dumbest statement I've ever made in my entire life. I say, "You should try and jump a little higher next time so you get more air underneath you."
30 seconds later - Emily attempts her second backflip. She succeeds in getting at least her left hand underneath her body, but then reacts the opposite way, smashing her hand under her shoulder while simultaneously pulling away from it.
.17 seconds later - Emily's left humerus (upper arm bone) snaps in two. I hear it and immediately turn into a small frog. No seriously, I remain calm and go get some help.
The rest of the evening - screams, triage, high-on-crack-cussing-then-getting-tranquilized lady, drunk husband, ER waiting room, 40 in a 30 with the flashing blues behind me, warning, Rush 2, and yeah, that pretty much summarizes it.
Emily just walked in here about two minutes ago with this clamp on her arm - fortunately no cast for her. Looks like 4-8 weeks for healing, but I'm just thankful it wasn't her neck. I'm turning into my dad I think - "KIDS!!! Don't walk on that sidewalk, you could trip on the cracks! And then the neighbors will call the cops!" Uh, don't ask, it's a long story.
What have I learned? The most important lesson I've learned from this whole ordeal is that the word "triage" comes from the middle Scandinavian
"tri", which means "very," and the late French
"-age", which is a suffix meaning "slow doctors." The dictionary defines "triage" as, and I quote here, "a noun which when used in a slow passive context refers specifically to Raleigh General Hospital in Beckley, WV."
