THE REST OF THE STORY

Last time, I said:

I can get all philosophical about a good news/bad news thing.  Good news: I'm no longer throwing up. Bad news: I'm using more lovadopa than I want.  No news: none of it may matter. Life is like that.  We have to look at the glass half empty or half full.

But.......................please, please, please.  I am not a philosophical sage - far from it.  I learn lessons the hard way - not by contemplating how much sparkling water (my drink of choice since 1/1/12) is in my glass (or, in my case, the La Croix can).  Wondering what I'm talking about?  That is in the next post.

 This is that next post.  


At one time or another, we each have had a good friend who is experiencing a trying time.  I have kids, and have met many of my friends through my kids' activities. Of course, this means my friends have kids approximating the ages of my kids. At any given time, any one or more of my kids might be giving me some sort of heartburn and so it is not a stretch to believe that a good friend's trying time might be attributable to one or more of her kids.  


Such was the case last week. My friend and I were sitting at Starbucks.  Her son was going through some problems and, of course, she was feeling his pain.  I couldn't do anything to help him, but I could listen to her, and that's what I was doing.  She was talking.  I was listening.  Then he called.  He needed her to bring something he left in her car, so we climbed into her SUV and took it to him.  After our delivery, my friend took me back to Starbucks to drop me off at my car. She pulled up next to it and I jumped out of her SUV, still holding my empty coffee cup. Being the "green" friend that I am, I decided to drop my cup in the trash can just over the curb. Then, the fun began.

A concrete tire stopper- not nearly as pretty as the one pictured above - that was in between me and the curb JUMPED UP and hurled me face first into the curb.  My arms never went out to break my fall, so my mouth and nose made hard contact with the concrete.  It was one of those things that happens in slow motion.  As I was getting closer to that curb, all I could think was, "Please, not the teeth. Not the teeth."


Following impact, I crouched on the curb with my head hanging between my elbows for what seemed like a couple of minutes when I heard my friend grab me and shout, "Let me see your face! Are you OK?"  Always the mistress of understatement, I responded quietly, "No." I lifted my face to hers and all she could see was blood coming out of my mouth and nose. (Please, not the teeth. Not the teeth.) She picked me up off the curb and quickly guided me into the store and straight to the woman's restroom.  As luck would have, the door was locked, so we turned, opened the men's restroom door, and fell in.  I grabbed the handicap bar to balance myself while I tilted my face up to stop the nosebleed. (For those of you who do not have Parkinson's, facing up may not be a balance challenge.  For others of us ....)  In the meantime, my friend was soaking paper towels and stuffing them in my mouth, instructing me to apply pressure.  I was grabbing some of them before she could hit her target and using them to apply pressure to my in-the-air nose, all the while shouting, "Do you see my teeth? Are they all there?"

Now, let me tell you something.  You know you have a good friend when she is willing to deal with your blood when it's less than a life and death situation.  One time at a soccer tournament, I tripped over a big plastic box and skinned my shin pretty badly.  Fortunately, I was in charge of the team first-aid kit, which was located in the plastic box.  I was able to crawl to my cell phone, call one the moms who was a nurse, and after asking her if she was troubled by the sight of blood, begged her to come and bandage my leg.  I am such a baby.  But this Starbucks incident, well, this was not a pretty moment. This woman shoving paper towels in my face is a very good friend.


Anyway, as my friend continued to soak paper towels, I pulled the spent ones out of my mouth, and before I allowed her to push fresh ones in, I grabbed her arm saying in my most serious voice, "Wait. Wait. Diane! [Pause] Have I taken your mind off of Zach at least for a moment?" 


I may not have done a great job at setting up the punch line for you, but I can assure you that, standing in the men's room at Starbuck's, still clutching the handicap grip bar as I continued to  pinch wet paper towels against my nose (that was still tilted in the air as I spoke) was pretty funny.  It really was.  That's why Diane and I were laughing.


And that is what I do. There was no glass that was half empty or half full.  There was a 100% empty disposable coffee cup (that eventually I retrieved and threw away) that set into motion a series of unpleasant events that gave me an opportunity to make a stupid joke - a really stupid joke.  I suppose I would say that I look at something that might not be such a great thing at the moment (a glass half empty), and deliver whatever stupid joke that pops into my head, so long as I am the butt of the joke. I stick a straw into my glass and blow bubbles.


G


P.S. My mouth was completely full.  All of my teeth remained in tact.