By Kate Willoughby Hall, a girl whom trouble often follows. Find less-troublesome, more business info at http://richmondmom.wordpress.com
It was a dark and stormy night. . .oh who am I kidding it was a lovely Sunday morning, and the fall winds finally graced us with their presence after weeks of heat, so I chose this morning as the perfect time to do my five-mile run. After all, having missed our typical Saturday run because we were out of town It was my duty to complete this task to keep up with my Mother Runner team.
And so, Ipod charged and running gear on I padded onto the quiet streets (or so I thought-you like that foreshadowing?) of the Northern Neck where we’d been staying at my in-laws’ home. The first mile was slow and steady but as the breeze blew into my second mile it warmed my legs and through my usual course I went. It was then that I decided to veer slightly off the main road and gain some extra mileage.
That’s when this mama’s trouble started, and lemme tell ya trouble has a way of zeroing in on me even in the deserted Northern Neck on a fall day, at 8am, even as Kanye was pumping me up.
How does said trouble locate me? Let’s take for example four years ago when I had lasik surgery, a long-awaited respite from glasses and contacts that worked like a charm until my (then) one-year-old pops me smack in the open eyeball with the back of his chubby little hand. That one ended with a flapped cornea that was only fixed AFTER driving 2 hours to DC in excruciating pain since my doc was off for the weekend. That kind soul of a doc met me at the front door of his office building with numbing drops and said he’d be happy to give me a Valium, but since I was six weeks pregnant couldn’t partake. As he flipped my cornea lens back my fists clenched, a whiny “why me” ran a loop through my head.
Two years earlier, when a random incident picking up my firstborn landed me in back surgery after months of pain, I lay in what looked like the geriatric ward wondering how I’d gotten my 30-year-old self in this mess. Again, the loop played. What’s my problem anyway!?
I won’t drone on about my random, untimely and sporadic health foibles (as this may develop into a novel) other than to share that this blog is being typed as I sit in the ER. An x-ray (for teeth, I am told) and rounds of shots (two in the arms, two at the bite-site) are my fate after that random river road brought my lower calf and a country pooch a bit too close in proximity. (The kids were amazed, “whoa teeth marks and everything!”)
After answering questions about said canine, whom I can only remember to be wide-jawed with sharp fangs, and baring his evidence on my calf for all of the ER to see. Heck that animal was the likes of Cujo heading after me but in real-life (when not attacking slow, unsuspecting runners) probably looks like this:
More Dog Pictures and Loldogs
This will be the first of several shots I’m told, to prevent foaming-at-the-mouth, hallucinations and other inconvenient, unattractive symptoms rabies tends to bring it’s victims. So I’ll just hang on this hospital bed typing away and snacking on nabs till they pump me full ‘o anti-rabidic (is that a word!?) serum and wait. And wonder what life would be like if I weren’t such a magnet for all kinds of crazy trouble.
