In less than a second I slipped on the stairs, bumped the back of my head on the stairs twice blacked out for a few seconds and woke up on the bottom of the stairs with the wind knocked out of me unable to breathe or speak. Spawn looks at me with a long concerned face and just tells me to call Dad. I finally am able to sit up, get up and put ice on my head that feels like someone split it open with an axe and have trouble talking clearly and dialing my phone. I tell my husband to come home from work to take me to the emergency room and he does. Thankfully a kind and available neighbor takes Spawn and Chica while I am given a private room and CTscan within an hour of arriving cause I flash my badge don’t know you and make sure I mention several times that I work there. I burst into tears in the CT room and try not to throw up. I have trouble walking correctly. My back hurts. My arms hurt. It hurts to raise my eyes up to look at the sky. My head feels like I am Wiley Coyote and someone from ACME dropped an anvil on my head.
I hope I don’t have a bleed in my brain and die like Natasha Richardson.
All I can think of how many of them bitches I work with would show up to my funeral or would they all say they had to work and just comment posthumously on my Facebook page and if my close friends would wonder if it would be too slutty to wear a sleeveless dress and sandals and if black was really necessary cause good sweaty monkey balls its been like 120 degrees with the heat index.
So six days later now I am still alive and getting better. Living in the fog and extreme fatigue brought about by knocking the shit out of my noggin is very weird and the bump on the back of my head hurts like crap and its itchy and I can’t scratch it.
One thing to look forward to is that now that I have a TBI I can act even more inappropriate than I already do with a legit excuse.
Wanna see my boobs?