I can’t imagine there are many people who can say their spouse fell down an elevator shaft.
But … my husband fell down an elevator shaft.
When I last wrote, it was about our recent run of bad luck. Usually, sequels take some time to come out.
Not ours.
Before I go any further, please know that Don is fine. His wrist and coccyx, not so much. He has a cast on one and a donut cushion under the other.
I took him to our local emergency room, where he was asked, “How did this happen?â€
Don could have included more information to make it sound less bizarre, but went with, “I fell down an elevator shaft.†As if that happens to folks all the time.
The doctor nodded, with a brief flash of a smile.
“Were you chasing the roadrunner and he moved the hole?â€
The accident did sound a little cartoonish, but there were no coyotes or anvils involved. Just an extension ladder in an elevator shaft that collapsed when Don climbed on to go down.
I had been upstairs, next to the hole when it happened. I saw the ladder fall and Don crash onto a buffet covered in hurricane lamps before he landed on the shattered glass, the ladder, and the concrete floor. Despite broken glass being everywhere, he emerged with only a single, small cut.
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His wrist hurt badly, yet he could move all his fingers and insisted he was fine. That didn’t stop me from emptying the freezer of frozen foods, which I packed around his wrist, tailbone, and shin, where a large, swollen knot had formed. He didn’t want to go to the hospital, but eventually gave in.
He left with a cast, a sling, a prescription, and a referral, as well as a stack of paperwork. Later, I flipped through the pages. There was a section on “How to avoid falls at home.†I found it to be lacking. No mention of elevator shafts.
When we go out in public, his oversized cast attracts attention. People often stop to ask what happened. When he tells them the truth, they don’t believe him, so we began coming up with something different every time.
This is why there’s a cashier at Kroger who believes Don was injured in a pole-dancing incident.
And why the nice ladies at the Catholic Charities thrift store think he got in a fist fight with a priest.
And why some guy at the gas station believes Don will think twice before answering, “Do these jeans make my butt look big?â€
I see Don having such a good time despite his big cast and sore tail and all those deep-purple bruises, and I realize that maybe it wasn’t a continuation of bad luck at all. He fell all that way, bounced off a buffet, and landed on a cement floor that was covered in glass.
It could have been so much worse.
But luck was with us.
And perhaps a guardian angel or two.
