How I Got My Concussion
Two words: Pirate Ninjas.
Or is it Ninja Pirates? I’m not sure.
Either way, it went like this: A little girl was crying. Being a mom, of course I looked to see if I could help. But instead of a dropped ice cream or broken dolly, I found the wide-eyed youngster surrounded by a group of what could only be called Pirate Ninjas (or Ninja Pirates).
Brandishing a katana, one of the pirates/ninjas stepped toward the cowering girl, and the parrot on his shoulder squawked, “Where’s the map?”
The other pirates/ninjas closed in on her, whipping nunchaku around so fast, I don’t know how they didn’t knock their pirate hats off.
The girl trembled. “Map?” she asked tearfully, clutching an adorable mewling kitten to her chest.
That did it. My maternal sense outweighed my common sense.
“Leave her alone!” I shouted, rushing forward.
The pirate/ninjas advanced on me silently – no small feat for a bunch of guys with wooden legs, but I guess that’s ninja training for you. A nunchaku flashed past my cheek and I…
I promised to tell you the boring, embarrassing, TRUE story of how I got my concussion, didn’t I?
Are you sure? I guarantee the Pirate Ninja (or is it Ninja Pirate?) one is much more entertaining.
Oh well, if you’re sure, then. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I was in the kitchen preparing dinner while my three kids (ages 3, 3, and 5, for those of you keeping track) were screaming for food like it’d been a week since their last meal, instead of an hour. Anyway, slightly distracted, to say the least, I crouched down to the vegetable drawer, grabbed whatever veg I was making for dinner, and jumped to my feet – without moving back from the fridge first.
The top of my head slammed into the hard edge of the freezer door , knocking me back into a crouch. Tears clouding my eyes, I quickly realized a crouch wasn’t going to do it, and I slumped to the floor. Fortunately, the kids were still too busy screaming about their supposedly empty bellies to hear me in the kitchen or they would have learned a few new words that day.
After a few minutes, I got up and finished making dinner with a doozy of a headache. I didn’t know how badly I was injured – I mean, seriously, who gets a concussion from their fridge? – I just knew I had a giant goose egg that triggered screaming pain at the slightest touch (showering was torture, let me tell you).
But, three days later, I was out shopping in a busy store with my husband, when I started having trouble getting words out.
A trip to the hospital diagnosed my concussion – made worse thanks to the two I’d had back in high school: one from sports (yes, I was wearing a helmet), the other from a minor car accident (not my fault).
So there you have it, the boring, embarrassing, true story of how I got my concussion while cooking dinner.
Tune in next week for part two of my concussion saga: How The Concussion Has Disrupted my Life (and Especially my Writing)