What the heck is she talking about now??
My sister's laughing already because she heard the story the other night at our Thursday night get together. I expected to go over to Mom's to just show everyone my newly unveiled and de-stitched scar on my back, but I ended up showing them the scrape on my stomach instead.
My son and I had driven back up to the dermatologist yesterday afternoon for the stitch removing ceremony from my war scar of fighting the Fingolimod battle against MS. (Too much to explain, just go back a few posts).
It was Thursday and Thursday is the day my sister and I meet over at Mom's and have dinner with Mom, my eldest son and his wife, and my granddaughter, and my 10 year old who comes with me.
We were going to go straight there after getting back to town at 6:30 but SOMEbody had to use the bathroom and I decided to check my email. (I am seriously addicted to the internet).
We both get done with our respective tasks and we head out the door, me first. I yell over my shoulder "Make sure it's locked!" and he did.
I looked down at my hand. Uh oh. The keys are by the computer.
This wouldn't have been a big deal had I not relentlessly hounded John into finishing the privacy fence. The only way in was in the back yard and it was a fortress protected by a 6 foot fence with a gate that has 2 (locked) locks.
I look around giving the front yard my best MacGyver I Spy once over sweep in search of how to get over the fence. Aha! There's an A-frame from John's work van haphazardly leaning against the fence, as if inviting someone to climb up and over.
My son climbs up and looks over the other side.
"I dunno, Ma. I think I might get hurt," he says as he comes back down.
"Oh for cryin' out loud" I say impatiently. "Here, let me have that thing." I take the A-frame from him and he points out that our old pool ladder is leaning up against the inside of the fence about 12 feet farther down.
I take the A-frame over to where I can see the ladder between the fence slats. On this side, however, is some construction related material from John's work. Carpet padding, specifically.
I plant the A-frame straddling the roll of padding, sure that it will work just fine even if it is a little wobbly.
Did I mention that we live on an *arterial highway* going through our little town? And this was right around rush hour? Maximum audience.
As I am climbing up, I am thinking to myself "heh. You'd have never caught me trying this last year! I've become darn near invincible! Good thing I wore sneaks instead of flip flops."
And it was right about then, as I had one foot on the top rung and the other poised, mid-air to swing over the top of the fence, that I realized the A-frame was moving and it wasn't a side to side wobble. It was falling away straight out in back of me.
As I fell down onto the top of the fence which hit me right square in the gut, I remember thinking "glad we got that square topped fencing and not that real pointy stuff!" I balanced there for a couple seconds and then began to slide. The fence top caught under my shirt and the rough, unpainted wood proceeded to peel me like a potato as gravity pulled me down.
"YEEEEEOOOOOOOWWWWWWW!!!" was all I could manage to get out as I slid uncontrollably.
Then I realized, to my horror, the fence had scraped right under my shirt and managed to snag under my bra and I was hanging there, in front of the rush hour traffic with my shirt and bra over my head and my feet still off the ground.
Oh. My. God.
So many thoughts racing through my head as my hands worked madly to try and lift my entire body weight off the fence by my snagged shirt and bra.
"I hope my neighbor isn't watching!"
"I hope my son isn't watching...and scarred for life!"
"Man I don't want to find this on youtube!"
"I hope my brand new bra isn't all womped out of shape now! I paid good money for that!"
"That breeze feels kinda nice!"
It was probably only seconds before I was down off the fence. Then I was so busy surveying the carnage that I forgot I had an audience and when I remembered I was frantically trying to cover back up.
So how did we ever get the keys and go to Mom's that night, you ask?
My son, who had fortunately been spared from witnessing the whole tragic act, was around the corner wandering and goofing off, oblivious to it all.
When he saw me crying over my hurt dignity he asked what was wrong and I told him the fence had just beat me up.
He puffed out his chest and strutted over to the fence proclaiming "I'm not letting MY mom get hurt again! I'm going over the fence!" He proceeded to climb with a purpose and was up and over the fence without so much as a splinter to show for it.
He was in the back and out the front with keys in hand before my stomach and chest had even done welting up and bleeding and turning black and blue.
So, there could be one more side effect of Fingolimod that I hadn't considered.
The bottle should say "Caution: May cause feelings of grandeur and invincibility that could cause you to go temporarily insane and make a 47 year old do something that only 10 year olds should even attempt."
"Caution, always tuck in your shirt while taking this drug. May get hooked on fence and hang naked in front of traffic. Be sure to stay away from all fences before you know how you will react to this medication."
"Stop taking this medication and consult your physician immediately if you find yourself hanging by your shirt from your fence during rush hour with your boobs exposed for all to see. This could be a serious reaction and may need medical attention, especially if scrapes, swelling and bruising develop."
If I have anything to say about what the warning labels will be, that should about cover it.