Stardate 1607.19 – Good Samaritan
The first morning of the convention I attended had been a little slow so I had been dancing up and down in the hallways, aisles and anywhere I could find a saddened face. Simon would have ripped me a new asshole had I stood in front of him on a talent show, but I didn’t care. I sang at the top of my lungs and made fans, friends, attendees and vendors laugh and smile. My work as the bellydancing Darth Maul came to a halt as someone into voodoo poked and prodded at an unknown look-alike doll of muah. The afternoon crawled by with even strangers knowing something was wrong with me. I cannot explain what was going on, but I suffered from tunnel vision, deja-vu and a powerful spiritual warfare. After a night’s rest I entertained the masses. Okay, it was a minimum. The smaller crowd enjoyed my hip bumps, light saber baton twirling and horrible voice.
The time had come to an end as I prepared my departure. Walking out to the vehicle, I walked, talked and chewed gum. No, I wasn’t exactly chewing gum. Instead, I discussed with a friend upcoming business adventures. The curb jumped out and bit me in the ankle, both hands and my face. “I fallen down and I can’t get up,” I cried. I bawled like a baby, a spoiled brat and a heartbroken fool. Anger built up in my bones because when I get hurt, the healing process is long because I don’t have the community, family or spiritual support to help me through the difficult times.
Two weeks prior, I had endured a reoccurring nightmare plaguing my sleep telling me this trip would end my career as an author. To this day, my husband, friends and family have learned to listen to my dreams. Looking down, I watched as bruises a foot wide surrounded my ankle and my right hand swelled, instantly bruising. No one cared about my left hand because the injury did not physically appear. I cried about how I was supposed to dance, make people happy and not remember me being injured. The ambulance was called, but my fears of medical care, insurance trouble and financial problems imprisoned me from riding with the ambulance. I was told I could have someone else drive me, but after waiting, I overheard some jerk talk about the event insurance wouldn’t cover me. So, after people packed up my stuff without taking care to make sure no damage was done, I left.
Propping my right foot up, I drove with my left hand. The six hour trip frightened me and I stopped at a rest stop to go release the damn built up in my bladder. Tears rolled out my ducks and down my reddened cheeks. I literally crawled across concrete, grass and tiled floors. People stopped, stared and a man asked me if I needed help. His concerned eyes focused on my bandaged right hand and ankle. My pride kept me from accepting. I hid in the bathroom, but knew I had to exit and face people. Upon exiting, I returned my crawl across the desert to the vehicle. At last, I reached my door. Exhaustion drained me and I prepared to stand up on my left ankle, which has had 3 ankle surgeries and was inflamed from the extra weight. A man approached me and offered to help me stand up. I refused and stood up on my own, getting into my vehicle. He offered to give me some water and I refused. The good Samaritan’s wife and daughter appeared in the corner of my eye so I understood he was teaching his daughter a lesson. I accepted water, pop, snacks and supper money from them after being repeatedly coerced into accepting the gifts. As a reward, I asked the mother to get me a book out of the back of the vehicle. As I autographed it to the pre-teen, I explained, “Sometimes it’s okay to be independent, but don’t let pride keep you from being kind.” I overheard the family getting into the vehicle. The mother told her daughter, “I don’t care if you got a book. I am going to read it first.” It hit me. I broke my own disclaimer.
The trip home went as smooth as a natural delivery. The food, snacks, water and pop kept me from making many stops. I hit the drive thru. The meal tasted like heaven after I had glared at the money for three hours. At midnight, it was easy to stop on the side of the road, hop around to the back of the vehicle and use the tail to prop myself up to pee on the concrete. Every thirty to forty minutes, I had stopped to briefly rest my aching legs, hands, and back.
The months passed by without walking or improvement. Even as I type today, my wrists are still fighting carpel tunnel from my accident. Three weeks ago, the MRI said my ankle is still fighting a nasty sprain. I am afraid this is why I haven’t blogged for you. I apologize. Things have been out of my hands.
Signing off for now,