It Could Only Happen to Me

Right before Easter in 2006, I was leaving my house to go to work. I started down the steps to my garage and somehow I missed one. Before I knew it, I was at the bottom of the stairs. It felt like I had broken my foot. Luckily for me—and unluckily for her—my daughter, Mandy, was home because she had just started her spring break from school. She drove me to the emergency room, where the x-rays confirmed that I did indeed break my foot. To this day she still tells me that I did it on purpose just to mess up her school break.

I was wrapped and given crutches, which for me ended up being lethal weapons. They were just handed to me, like I knew what I was doing. I needed a five-foot radius around me just for the safety of others. I told the hospital attendants that if I was on them very long, they had better be prepared for more patients. As usual, the time spent in the emergency room was quite lengthy. Now I know why they keep asking you the same questions, like how old you are. By the time you get out, it is possible you may have had another birthday.