Lucky

Seven ladies from my senior Zumba class were gradually arriving for lunch. I was outside with my friends Cathy and Marion, waiting, when Cyndy’s red Bronco pulled in. Concentrating on her vehicle, I headed toward her. I wanted to guide her closer to the garage doors to make room for others.

When, SPLAT.

I found myself face down, sprawled on the concrete.

I heard Marion scream, followed by “Holy shit!”

“Should I call 911?” Cathy yelled.

They rushed over. “Can you move?” Marion asked.

I lifted my head. My face smarted. “Give me a minute.” I didn’t see any bones sticking out of my arms, but I did see blood on the driveway.

The two women helped me sit up. They took one look at my face and Marion let out another “Holy shit!”

By then, Cyndy was there, picking up my brand new glasses. “These are badly damaged. I don’t think they’re salvageable.”

They had been on my face when I went down.

My chin and nose burned. When I touched the hurt, I saw blood on my fingers. I looked around me, trying to assess what happened. It appeared I had tripped over the plastic tube extension off the drainpipe.

I go to a lot of trouble for my parties. I’d made this one Asian-themed. Chicken filled baozi (a filled steamed bun), fried rice, a multi-colored slaw with a homemade Asian dressing and a chopped peanut topping, and a lemon cake filled with homemade lemon curd. I’d iced the cake with lemon buttercream and decorated it with piped sunflowers. I had covered the table with a pink tablecloth, and pressed red napkins into small kimonos. In the middle of the table was a black vase holding realistic-looking cherry blossoms. On each side of it was two delicate printed fans. Each place setting had tiny soy sauce saucers and a set of chopsticks resting on porcelain cat chopstick holders. I had four sets of Asian-themed salt and pepper shakers out. I’d put on makeup, which I never wear to exercise classes, my Chinese symbolled earrings, and wore a cherry blossom decorated t-shirt. In the bathroom, I’d folded the toilet paper into a miniature, tasseled fan. I was excited to treat my guests to a careful, loving experience.

Cathy ran inside to get a rag for my face. Marion and Cyndy got me to my feet and supported either side of me as I wobbled to the front door, kicking aside that damn drainpipe extension. Cathy met us with a wad of wet paper towels. I mopped my face, the towel spotted in bright red. Cathy helped me up the stairs to my bathroom so I could assess the damage and properly clean up.

I looked at myself in the mirror. Swollen nose from bridge to tip. A small cut below my left eye. Scraped upper lip and chin. My forehead hurt and I found a small knot. I inhaled and exhaled through my nose. I could breathe okay. I touched the swollen nose, moving it back and forth. It didn’t shift off its axis. That seemed like a good sign that it wasn’t broken. I opened and closed my mouth. My jaw worked. I didn’t feel faint or sleepy or nauseous, only tense and shaky.

Why on earth had this happened? My wrecked face. My new glasses. And at the very second my party started? The universe must hate me.

When I came downstairs, a wet facecloth pressed to my right eye, I saw the rest of the guests had arrived. Marion was busy mixing Betty a drink and eyeing the fried rice as it heated. Cathy and Cyndy played hostesses, showing the other ladies around my little home.

When everyone spotted me, they stopped and stared.

“Yikes! Should we cancel?” Mary asked.

“Yes, we can do this another time,” Sheila said. Kim and Betty nodded.

“Hell, no,” I said. “I have everything ready. And all this food. I’m okay.” I’d been looking forward to this luncheon and had prepared for days. By golly, it was going to happen.

None of the guests had had baozi before. This was only the fourth time I’d attempted it, and I had experimented with yet another type of filling. The group oohed and ahhed. Kim said the Asian slaw was delicious, especially with the peanuts on top. When I brought out the cake, there were squeals of delight.

I think I could have served everyone cardboard and they would have said nice things. They felt bad that I had fallen. I felt bad that they had to look at my ugly mug while trying to eat. My accident had spoiled things and put a damper on the event.

Betty, a retired nurse, said I really should go to the ER. “You might feel okay now, but there could be something going on.”

Marion said she’d take me.

Cathy and Cyndy cleared the table and set to loading the dishwasher. No one wanted to linger, worried about my safety.

I made sure everyone left with a few baozi buns for later and any leftover cake. By then, Cathy and Cyndy had the kitchen spotless.

Marion grabbed her keys and drove me to the hospital, giving up the rest of her afternoon for me. I felt terrible about that.

The first thing the doctor said when he came into our curtained room was, “Looks like you broke your nose.” He probed my face, hitting all the sore areas. “Hmm,” he said, “maybe not.” He checked my neck, back, shoulders, and jaw. “I’m going to order a CT Scan to make sure there are no facial fractures. And we’ll get an x-ray of that hand.”

I saw that my right hand had a large lump between the ring and little finger. I realized it throbbed.

“Did you lose consciousness?” the doctor asked.

Marion told him she’d seen the whole thing. I never blacked out. “But she sure hit hard.”

When he left to put in the radiology orders, I sat back in my chair, feeling sorry for myself. I was being punished for feeling that wave of pride about my party preparations. And for dressing to theme and taking care with make-up, feeling like I looked nice. Except I didn’t anymore.

I shook away the negative thoughts. I would NOT give in to that childhood Catholic guilt.

Be optimistic, Katherine, remember? Don’t question why it happened or play martyr. Think about what good might come out of this experience. Think about the pros.

Recalling the details of the doctor’s examination, there were many bad “could haves.” I could have broken a wrist or shoulder or jaw. I could have smashed my nose. I could have bashed in my skull or ocular bones or had a concussion. I could have injured my spinal cord, lost teeth, or had pieces of my glasses in my eyes. There were many scary options.

And what if it had been one of my guests? Imagine one of those women bleeding and sprawled across the driveway. And what about that stupid drainpipe extension? It was showing me I had a hazard the way it was draped across part of the sidewalk. It needed to be shortened.

A cheerful aid appeared. Did I want an ice pack?

A smiling x-ray technician came to fetch me. She was soft-spoken and kind, manipulating me with care.

While Marion and I waited for x-ray results, we both commented on the friendly staff who treated us like VIPs. Marion and I chatted, our conversation turning intimate. She told me about her concern for her fifty-year-old step-daughter who was in and out of the hospital of late with possible heart issues. I told Marion about my ex-husband’s recent suicide and the friendly relationship my late husband and I had developed with him.

In a few hours, the doctor came back. “Everything checked out fine. You’re going to have two black eyes and those abrasions will also take time to heal. Aside from a colorful face over the next month, you’re good to go.”

I asked him if I could exercise right away. “I take classes at the gym six days a week.”

He looked at me, surprised. “It might be best not to do anything strenuous for the next few days. It was good that you came in within six hours of the accident, but there’s still a chance a problem will show up. Issues can hide. And do a follow-up with your primary physician this week.”

The next morning, I woke up with the predicted black eyes. The left side of my face was so swollen that my mouth tilted. My neck hurt something fierce, my left shoulder ached, and my lower back throbbed. I felt pressure in my left rib cage, and I had a headache.

Optimistic Katherine, however, thanked the cosmos. I had been given a couch day. Back-to-back movie watching. Time to crochet. The kitties would be overjoyed to take over my lap.

Yes. Look at the good: I made lunch for seven women, some of whom I didn’t know very well. My trauma brought us closer. What wonderful people. They had all stepped in and offered support.

I’m quite lucky.

The Faces

Fan toilet paper fold.

One of the sets of the Salt and Pepper shakers.

Lemon cake

Frosted with lemon buttercream and decorated with piped sunflowers.