A Short Synopsis Of Heading The Wrong Direction Without The Brain

As in taking a tumble. As in WHHHHhhooooosssshhh! with no bungee cord. As in going splat.

This is very a very bad position to be in, especially if you're a roofer. And especially, if you hadn't planned on it. But really, when had anyone planned on heading the wrong direction?

I've made unwise decisions before, as have you, I'm sure. Sometimes, it's just a mundane one, like looking at the drip edge and waddling along the roof and not checking whether someone had slipped a piece of tar paper under another without tacking it. Twenty years in the biz and you'd think I'd see that amateur mistake. But life is like that. You can check and avoid slippery sawdust and sand; you can tread carefully when it rain. You EXPECT trouble when you see certain things with your experienced eye, and if you still slipped, well, at least you saw it coming, and perhaps, was able to negotiate the least painful way while sliding off your feet.

On Sunday, no such thing happened. I was there and then, suddenly, I was not. The paper under me was solid, and then, suddenly, it was not. And when it took off under my feet, I understood, in that split second, that this wasn't any magic carpet ride, and that there was nothing between me and the concrete poolside below.

There was no time to panic. I didn't even manage a squeak of surprise. All I heard was my partner's very loud surprised curse while I was heading the wrong direction...straight down and with no control over my body. You know, usually, when you're slipping or sliding, your brain is looking for solutions for you. Your hand automatically reach out to brace yourself. You scream, as if to warn yourself or someone around you to save you. You bend your legs to stop the sliding.

Not this time. My brain was still up on the roof. The rest of me...WwHHHHoooshhh. And in half a second it was a WWwwHHhhacK. That was my head. Saying hi to that concrete. Brain was still gaping in astonishment. Me? Well, like I said, I registered the shout from my partner. Everything else was silence.

And in that silence, the WWWwwwwHHHacK echoed really loudly. I never lost consciousness. and then this sound erupted from inside and was torn from my vocal cords. I'm not sure what it was. I'll call it my Spontaneous Moan. Do you remember those ghost stories your nasty older brother or cousin told you about during Halloween, about walking in the dark, with nary a soul in sight, with things brushing up against you, and then this long unearthly moan came out of nowhere? Well, that's how this sounded, coming from somewhere inside me, but not from my brain, somewhere else--perhaps the soul, or even a more primitive consciousness within--rising out of me like some kind of magical portentous thunder.

And my brain? It heard me. Because I distinctly remember that clear thought at that moment from somewhere outside, that "that sounded absolutely scary-horrible and I'd better shut myself up." And immediately, in a flash, my brain was back inside my head and I could hear my partner rattling the ladder against the wooden pool fence in his hurry to get to me. And my brain was registering that not more than ten or fifteen seconds had probably just passed.

My body had already told me that I was in pain. But how seriously was I injured? I mean, would someone dying be thinking so logically? As in..."Ouch, that hurt. Stop that stupid moaning. And wow, wait till the readers read about this on the blog."

I turned. The sky was still blue and yes, I'm breathing. Deep breaths. My partner was walking toward me and calm as the pool waters not five feet from me, I told him, "I'm okay."

As if I'd know! But that was how I felt. Very calm. In pain, but not the kind that makes you go OW OW OW! or #%*&F*#K%!!! or even whimper. Just my brain and me, looking around.

"Is there blood?" I asked, although I was pretty sure there wasn't any.

He shook his head. I think he was in shock. I sat up slowly, gingerly touching myself. It hurt but I was moving. I took inventory. No dizziness. There was a goose egg on my head but seeing that I'd expected a smashed watermelon, a goose egg was good. I walked. No stumbling. I even stretched a little and found that my ribs hurt.

I thought, and this was a silly and odd thing, about my first nasty fall as a kid, down a very long flight of cement stairs, and how my grandma picked up a shoe and started rubbing my goose egg very, very hard with its sole. I remembered how she made me bawl even more, since I expected some loving hugs and reassurances, not a torture mush with the wrong side of a shoe.

Anyway, after ten or fifteen minutes, I was back on the roof, finishing up my job. Of course, I pointed out to all that someone had kindly retacked the same spot with just one fucking nail and my partner was standing on it. Sheesh. Must I show them again the danger of doing that????! Men. They'll never learn.

The next 24 hours, I was carefully monitoring myself. The goose egg disappeared in a matter of hours, which surprised me. I had developed a headache and neck ache, which didn't. My ribs had stiffened up and I found other slight bruises but everything is a surprise to me because I was expecting much, much more.

I put off sleep, chatting with y'all on Twitter and Facebook, telling you about my little adventure, so that I could see whether my headache would worsen or whether I'd feel nauseous and out-of-sorts, which would indicate serious concussion. I understood the risk I was taking but you know, a two thousand five hundred dollar deductible in one's health insurance is still a two thousand five hundred dollar deductible whichever way you think of it. I wasn't THINKING of that, mind you, but it was one of the reasons, and not the MAIN one, that made me decide to just take it easy for a while. So don't go all mommy on me, okay? I may still go see a doctor and may still take a brain scan.

And oh. Two days later, I'm still trying to remember how I landed. Did I really land on my head? I couldn't have, or I wouldn't have just a goose egg, right? So did I land on my side first, then hit my head? If so, why is there no bruising? And how did I hurt my ribs when my partner said he saw me on my back? The mystery is "killing" me, yuk yuk, yuk.

One last thing. While googling about head injuries, like any silly Internet-dependent Twerp would do, I came across a site talking about children and falling down, how there was an old wife's tale to rub the bump on the child's head hard and that THIS WAS NOT A BAD THING TO DO because it was meant to stop the bleeding, if there were any, and to tell whether the bump is a lump or a concave thing. My grandma knew more about brains than I thought.

And Brain? That was pretty funny how I caught you by surprise the other day. You didn't even manage a squeak!
;-)

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