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Friday, June 17, 2011

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I Need Friends Friday: In which Sarah demonstrates how to NOT make friends


(Every Friday I interview a different person and share that interview with you. Perhaps they will be a fellow author. Perhaps one of my neighbors. Maybe the bagger at the grocery store. A member of my family. A follower of this blog. Maybe it will be you! Hey, it could happen.)

Consider today's INFF post the "After-school Special" of INFF. It is a cautionary tale, one meant to warn and educate the masses against the dangers of... well... just dangers. You'll see. And, when you're finished reading my very self-centered tale of courage in the face of horrific experiences, you can click on the INFF button on the sidebar to read previous installment of INFF that are actually, you know, enjoyable.

Alright. Here we go.
Tuesday was a day not unlike many others. A mysterious flu bug had taken the children down one at a time. I'd spent the previous night and that entire morning cleaning up after them while being insanely ill myself. You know, typical motherhood.

I was laying back in the recliner, dozing between the sounds of my children proving to me that they were still too sick to do anything but lay on the couch and moan/sleep/make "messes." I'd been undertaking the same moan/sleep/make "messes" approach to life for about 18 hours and dehydration-induced delirium was quickly setting in.

I'm not exaggerating. Delirium, as in I was completely out of my mind sick. Incoherent. Glassy-eyed. Crazed. Delirious.

I heard a knock at the door. Despite being in the den of vile illnesses, I thought to myself, "If someone is knocking on my door, I have to answer it. There are no other options." This should have been sign #1 that I absolutely should not have answered the door. I mean, c'mon, ignoring people at the door/on the phone/sending spam emails is always an option, right? In that moment in my state of mind, there was nothing to be done but get up and answer the door.

So I pulled myself out of my sickrecliner (as opposed to sickbed--get it?!) and stumbled to the front door. A respectable-looking, college-aged young man stood on the other side. He very politely explained that he was earning some money for school by cleaning out people's gutters. While his sales pitch was going on, this was my quickly deteriorating thought process:

"I really don't feel good. I REALLY don't feel good. I need to tell him to come back later. How would I say that? I can't really think of the right words. If I throw up, that'll probably make him think I'm a jerk. (yes, I actually thought that). I don't even understand what he's saying anymore. I really, really don't feel good. Must talk to guy. Must talk now."

Then I started attempting to talk to him. The look on his face probably should have told me I wasn't making any sense, but still I persisted. (For purposes of picturing the poor guy's facial expression: it was somewhere between "Is this lady drunk" and "I am pretty sure this lady is having a stroke." Got it? Great. Back to the story.)

I then cycled through these thoughts in quick succession:

"It's hot. I'm sweaty. I think I'm gonna puke."

I don't remember anything after that. At all.

I came-to face down on the concrete of our front porch. "Why am I sleeping on the porch," was my first thought. Yea. Like I said--I was a little delirious.

Then the sound of that poor young man, saying "Ma'am? Are you okay? Ma'am?" in a very panic-stricken voice tipped me to the realization that something was significantly wrong. I somehow managed to piece together the fact that I had passed out.

This is the point where I started apologizing to him repeatedly, because, apparently, passing out is a sin of quite heinous proportions. He helped me back into my house and back to my recliner of sickness. He managed to hand me a paper towel--I was bleeding, you understand, having face planted onto concrete. He very kindly waited for me to get in touch with my husband, then left with a quickness that made me wonder if perhaps he was on the track team.

My husband came directly home. My daughter kindly informed me that my face looked broken. My son pointed out that my leg was bleeding. A lot. Only after about 20 minutes did I start to feel the pain. Thank goodness for the numbing effects of shock.

We believe the order of injury was thus: I hit my chin on the wrought iron railing on the porch, then my face on the concrete. As I went down, my leg slammed into the step from the door onto the patio. My self-respect died somewhere in the midst of all that, as, I imagine, did that kid's desire to be a door-to-door salesman. In fact, if I had to guess, I'd say he just went home for the day. That's what I would have done.

Casualty list:
*split lip

*ridiculously bruised & swollen chin-->
(you can't really see the swelling, but let's just say Jay Leno would be jealous of my chin-fabulousness right now; this picture was taken Wednesday afternoon--it looks even more pathetically colorful than this now)

<---*cut & bruised leg











*bloody nose

*2 loose front teeth (They aren't so loose that I'm at risk of them actually falling out, but I'll need to have them x-rayed to check for root damage. Yeah!)

*a lifetime of therapy for a poor college student who was just trying to earn money for tuition



Now in the tradition of INFF, we will visit the portrait gallery:

The guy at the door when I first opened it:

The guy at the door while I was "talking" to him:

The guy at the door after I regained consciousness:


Today's takeaway lesson: If you are really, really sick... don't answer the door. You're not gonna make friends that way.

SME:
*cue exit music* Well, this has been a very special installment of "I Need Friends" Friday. Come back next week when I will actually make a friend!!

If you'd like to be interviewed for "I Need Friends" Friday, shoot me off an email: friends at sarahmeden dot com!
I am looking for anyone and everyone, whether or not you think you are interesting. You'll get a fantastic stick figure portrait of yourself, a little promotion (if you're looking for that sort of thing) and the opportunity to tell your friends and family that you've been interviewed by SME, er... by ME!

18 comments:

Becca said...

See, there's guilt for laughing at a story like this. Guilt for laughing at all the characters involved.

It's a gift, to inspire guilt like that.

(Can we see an updated photo of the chin, perhaps? Is it green and yellow?)

Robin Weeks said...

Aw, Sarah! Hope you're feeling better!

(Fainting is pretty good, but I was waiting for you to throw up on him.)

Melanie Jacobson said...

Holy crap.

Oh, I really hope you feel better soon.

But at least you've got a good story out of it, and that's the most important thing, really.

(Also, no lie, my word verification is: active.)

Simon said...

I do hope you get feeling better soon!

JaredNGarrett said...

Good gravy. Glad you didn't lose teeth. Losing teeth prematurely is a sign of scurvy, and when you've got scurvy, you're an instant outcast.

Lynn Parsons said...

Well, maybe you left that poor young man with some life lessons...be careful when you knock on doors...how to apply first aid...how to recognize signs of illness (physical or mental)...and to work hard in school so he won't have to take a job dealing with the genral public!

Hope you're feeling much better soon!

WEKM said...

I am a horrible person.
I actually laughed at all this.
But on a good note, if you had been anyone else, the damage could have been MUCH worse; because, you know, you're already that much closer to the ground than the rest of us. ;-)

See, horrible person.

Get better soon.

Sarah M Eden said...

WEKM - I'll have you know my loving and affectionate mother said the exact same thing, that my lack of height likely saved my life. A bit cruel, yes, but so very, very true.

Robin - My biggest fear during the ordeal was that I was going to throw up. It never occurred to me I might pass out.

Kristi said...

Oh, Sarah!! I can't believe that! I'm so sorry that you had to go through all that...and I'm glad it wasn't any worse, because it certainly could have. (And, did he not try and catch you?!)
Hope you guys are doing better!!

Sarah M Eden said...

Kristi - He had stepped off the porch to look at our gutters, so he was too far away to catch me. I'd like to think he would have tried otherwise. He seemed like such a nice, if slightly alarmed, young man.

Shanda said...

Oh, Sarah! What a story. I'm glad you can (kind of) laugh at this now. Sounds like your kids were pretty level-headed through the whole thing. My girls probably would have freaked. And OUCH- your pictures made me cringe.

I hope you are all feeling much better now.

Sarah M Eden said...

Shanda - I think they would have freaked out if they weren't so ridiculously sick too. It was a long couple days.

Krista said...

I really really really hope you can use this in a story. And that you recover quickly. Because I'm caught between, "Oh NO!" and "Bwa ha ha ha". Such a wicked wicked week. You have my sympathies.

Rachel Rebekah said...

Hey, new to the blog but couldn't leave without commenting. The stick figure segment may be the best part of that whole story... hard to say since it was a pretty dang good story.

Looking forward to more!

Sarah M Eden said...

Oh, Rachel. I feel I should apologize that you first arrived here with this post. Things are usually so much, I don't know, less violent and bloody around here. Also less lame. Imagine me giving you cookies or a fruit basket or something and saying something along the lines of, "It gets better, I promise."

Becky said...

Ouch... Hopefully the sickness is over for a while or forever.

The Damsel In Dis Dress said...

!!!!!!
Next time stay on your sickrecliner.
That's an order.

Margot
www.margothovley.com

Annette Lyon said...

Hooray for insurance that will cover said dental x-rays. (Silver linings and all . . .)

You've proven what they say: that no experience is lost on a writer.

Glad the flu of heinousness is past. I hope it is banished into the far reaches forever.