(For politics, please scroll down)
I tripped on uneven concrete steps at a house where I'd gone to look at a secondhand television, pitched forward from the bottom several steps, and planted my face in the street.
As hard as I hit that asphalt, it's a wonder that all my front teeth weren't knocked out!
Somehow, I managed to climb the stairs to the house I'd just left, and the woman living there gave me cold cloths for my face. As soon as I could manage using my cell phone, I phoned The Merry Widow, who took a cab to where I was being loaded into the ambulance and, driving the van I had used to drive to the woman's house, followed the ambulance to the hospital.
In the ER, I spent three hours being assessed: vitals, CT scan, tetanus shot.
No broken bones, no concussion, no blurred vision, but many deep cuts and abrasions — and five stitches inside my upper lip. The numbing injections for that upper lip were the worst part of this entire event. Exquisite pain!
Lots of swelling and lots of pain this morning. My upper lip is nearly inside out and looks as if I've had multiple injections of collagen. Eating is problematic.
The ER doctor recommended that I consult a plastic surgeon. Really? Really? At my age? I think not! I don't have good luck with surgeries.
By the way, the ER doctor never said, "The lip will need stitches." Instead, she said, "That lip will need repair."
Being the kind of person I am, I blurted, "What kind of repair? Do you mean stitches? Why don't you just say so?"