Yesterday started off pretty much like every other Sunday. Wayne went on his 14 mile run with the neighbor, I enjoyed my Sleeping in Sunday ritual. Later there’s always the big decision: what are we going to do for breakfast?
Since he had work to do still (he’s been working the last 2 weeks, including weekends, on a big deal) and I was craving link sausages, we decided I’d run to the store and make us breakfast at home.
So I took off, got the stuff, and came home. That’s when disaster struck –or, rather, my klutzy ways did.
I stepped wrong and my foot caught the side of our driveway…the part that’s not flush with the lawn. My ankle twisted under me as I crashed to the ground screaming.
I felt it bend funny, and could’ve swore I felt something snap. Judging by the searing pain shooting through my leg and foot I thought I’d for sure broken my ankle.
Bawling my head off like I haven’t done since I was a kid, I started screaming for help hoping Wayne would hear. Then, still laying sprawled out on the ground because it hurt so bad and I was afraid to move, my mind raced trying to figure out how what to do next.
I grabbed my cell and called home. The second Wayne answered I started screaming, “Help me! Help me! I’m outside!”
Now he says I hung up on him, but I swear he hung up. I thought he heard me and was on his way outside so I clicked off and then waited for the door to open.
And waited. And kept waiting.
“What the heck is taking him so long?” I thought.
Bear in mind, I’m still laying on the ground bawling my head off.
A few more seconds passed and still no Wayne. I called him again, this time on his cell.
“Where the hell are you? Help me! I’m outside. I fell down! I think I broke my ankle!”
“What? Where are you?”
“OUTSIDE! Get the hell out here and help me, dammit! I can’t walk!”
Finally the front door opens and when he sees me he comes racing over to help me get inside.
Later he explained that he couldn’t understand me very well the first time I called. All he knew was I was hysterical and he thought I’d been in a car accident or had somehow run over an animal.
The second he thought of that last one he started racing around the house to make sure all of our animals were inside. (Because Mr. Meow is a good one to sneak out lately without us realizing it right away.) He started panicking I’d killed one of them on accident or something.
“Why didn’t you just look outside?” I asked.
“Because I thought you were still at the store. Or on the on the road.”
I sort of understand what he’s saying, but I’m fairly sure if he called me up howling that he was outside, even if I knew he’d been at the store, I’d at least go look out the window to see what was going on.
What I should’ve done, which I didn’t think of until I was falling asleep last night, was to set off my car’s emergency honking button. Maybe that would’ve gotten him to look out the window?
