I really intensely dislike and don’t even see the humor in the youtube videos of people getting hurt. Call me a killjoy or a stick in the mud. I’m just so empathetic that I can’t see the ‘funny’ in a personal disaster.
Hubby and I love to dance. We especially like to jive. There are not a lot of places for people ‘our age’ to dance in this city – so when our church announced an adult dance with music from the 50s, 60s, 70s and 80s, it went straight onto our calendar.
The evening arrived. We went to the church. There were not very many people there – which meant the dance floor was not crowded. We danced almost non-stop. We jived a lot – and laughed when I’d miss a lead. Remember, we hadn’t danced in over a year – and the university ballroom dance classes that we both got As in were nearly 40 years ago.
We requested ‘our song,’ “Lost in Love” by Air Supply (look that one up on itunes!), and then it was the last dance of the evening. Instead of a ‘home waltz’ (some of you are old enough to know what a ‘home waltz’ is), which would have been a much better idea in my humble opinion, the DJ played a jive. Howard and I decided to make the most of it. We jived fast and hard – and then Howard did a lead that took me into the hip throw – you know the one where the girl bounces off the guys left hip then his right hip and then he sets her down. Well, I misread the cue. Hip number one was exhilarating – I hadn’t done this in university (and neither had he). Hip number two was impressive, and other people were stopping to watch us. I thought we were going for a third and fourth hip … but we weren’t.
As hubby went to set me down, my legs were flying around looking for his hip. I landed on the floor, which I could have handled, but then Hubby landed on his knee full force on the side of my ankle.
He, of course, leapt up as fast as he could – and I lay there in shock.
Daughter (the one who got married last summer) was there with her hubby. She’d had three years of Sports Medicine training in high school. When she saw that I wasn’t getting up she flew to my side. By then my foot and ankle were already swollen. She gently poked and prodded and asked someone to get us some ice while she elevated my foot. “Mom, you’re going to the hospital,” she said. I already knew that.
Daughter whipped out her phone, checked the app for hospital wait times (who knew such a thing existed?) and told us, “We’re going to the High River hospital.”
Hubby and someone else picked me up and carried me to the car. Then Daughter said, “My guy will follow us. I’m riding with you to keep your foot up.” Gosh, I love my girl. Then my practical brain kicked in. “Daughter, I’m wearing my new, favorite skinny capris. If it’s broken and they decide to cast me, I’ll have to come home kind of exposed.” Now this is real love – Daughter is one size bigger than I am and she was wearing loose khaki shorts. So we traded pants. LOL.
At the hospital we had the necessary x-rays (not my favorite thing to do), and they came back as nothing broken. The doctor – young, handsome, athletic – was also a runner. He assured me it would just be a matter of a few days of ice and rest, then a few weeks of light activity, and the ankle would be fine. (Of course I threw in all kinds of natural healing aids.) Thank goodness he was right. Four weeks of not running was nearly driving me batty!
In truth, we were laughing about the accident and how it happened on our way to the hospital. A funny thing happened … well, sort of funny.
What is the funniest ‘tragedy’ you’ve experienced that you can laugh about now?