It's been well over two busy years but it only takes one major injury to interrupt my busy life and suddenly......ample time to blog!
I am going to start with a post accident story. Perhaps tomorrow I will fill you all in on the events leading up this this. We'll see.
This evening was supposed to be a family affair making dinner. My specialty is Schnitzel which the son only just learned but had not yet mastered. No problem I say, we'll do this together. The hubby will assist when needed.
Now, to set this story up I do have to submit just a bit of background information. I seriously broke my foot (Tarsis bone, supposedly the worst) resulting in surgery, bruised ribs and some whiplash. Go big or go home. My foot is fitted with an air cast, my home with many accessaries to make my non weight bearing life easier: wheelchair, walker, crutches etc.
Enough of that. 5:30 rolls around and momma bear is getting very hungry. No one has even made an attempt to start dinner and believe you me, no one in the house, other than myself, is even capable of pulling off a decent meal in under a half hour. I decide to motivate.
Note to self. Ranting is not the recommended method of motivation. But rant I do.
One flustered teen rushes in and frantically attempts to execute my barking orders. The hubby wanders in about 15 minutes later and orders me out of the kitchen. What if you fall, you'll screw up your foot. No, I shout. I'm at least getting this to the point where it's not going to take both of you an hour and a half to get dinner on the table. I'm starving!
I achieve my goal and set them up to finish off frying the schnitzel. Good Lord, how hard is it to heat up oil?? The oil is smoking, I say from my perch in the living room. No it's not says the hubby and proceeds to throw "a tiny bit" of water into the pans.....yes, you heard correctly....water!
The oil was indeed hot enough as the spitting, sizzling pans can attest to. At this point the hubby notices his mistake takes the pans, lifts them up and proceeds to stand in the middle of the kitchen, one frying pan in both hands letting them cool.
In it's normal state my oxycodone free brain would have said, Wow, what a mess you are making in the kitchen, proceed with caution.
But no. My drugged, low blood sugar, starving [did I say I was starving] brain lost all sensibility and madly crutched it's way into the disaster zone. That is when tragedy struck. This is the part where the story gets good.
Remember when I told you the hubby stood with spitting frying parts in hand? Any cooks out there? Can you guess what happened? (Think oil slick over linoleum floor) You guessed it. Three crutch strides in and I was going down for the count. There was no stopping me. Not even my galant hubby who tried to catch me. Here's where I will switch to my son's rendition as he had the best vantage point:
First I saw you go flying. I saw you protecting your foot and that you were going down slow. I wasn't worried till your crutch knocked dads feet out from under him. He was going down hard! And then there was Popcorn (our 7lb lap dog)! I never realized how fast she was mom!! She flew under your butt.....you just missed her!!! And then dad just about landed on top of her!!! I mean, she was fast!!!
The good news is I did not further injure my foot. I did re-strain the rib muscles on the way down but the hubby (who has been a pretty darn good caregiver) was thankfully uninjured.
And I have learned never to cook with oil whilst on crutches.
And not to rant.....that's not effective either.
😳
