As per usual, this story qualifies for inclusion
on the web site because a:) I have told it numerous times and find it always
gets a good response and b:) it makes light of a situation that did not have
to laughable.
I often martyr myself when people speak of vacations
by noting that I have had only one real vacation since graduating from college.
After reading what occurred on that outing - you may decide this habit of not
vacationing is more from self preservation than being a workaholic.
It all started innocently enough...
College graduation was over and my father announced that he wanted me to vacation with him, my mother, my brother and brother's friend. This was actually an enormous opportunity in our family as vacations were the exception rather than the rule. My father was always one for tropical get-aways so he chose the Cancun-Cozumel area.
The details of the vacation are pretty secondary to the story - suffice it to say that we windsurfed, bought cheap T-shirts, played water volleyball and did a lot of fun things associated with a beach resort. One morning it was decided that some culture was in order and we headed to the temples of Chichen Itza. Pops rented a bright shiny red Jeep and we loaded up and headed down the highway. Dad drove, Mom was in the front passenger seat, Tom and his friend were sitting in the tiny back seat and I was between them sitting on the top back of the seat itself.
Dad cranked the Jeep up to 70 and we whizzed down the road to see the temples. A few miles into the journey my mom noticed a sign that said "Topos 120." We all sorta chuckled about it as it looked like a picture of a bra. We continued to speed along talking about what sort of pictures we should take at the temples when we spied another sign "Topos 80." We debated over what manner of silliness a topos really was but sped merrily along. We totally ignored the "Topos 60" and Topos 20" signs and were still hitting a respectable 70 when we came upon a sign that said just "Topos" with an arrow pointing down. It was then we found out what topos meant!
Hitting a foot high speed bump at 70 in one of the most unstable vehicles made is a truly jarring experience, yet I remember it as if it happened in slow motion. The initial impact vaulted the Jeep into the air along with anything that wasn't tied down... or belted in. The only non-belted person was the idiot sitting on the back of the seat rest - your's truly. I will stand by my assertion that I can understand what it means to fly as for a brief shining moment gravity had nothing on me. Physics however, was another story. When the Jeep landed my father did something which I will have to back him as the right thing to do... he slammed on the brakes. The only problem was that I was still in the air. The Jeep skidded to a stop and I continued at 70 mph forward - face first into the roll cage. My styling shades shattered into countless pieces as I contacted the roll bar just above my nose, dead center between the eyes.
I lay on the floor dazed and confused sortof writhing in a mass with my face down on the floor. Pops asked," Everyone okay?" not waiting for an answer, and proceeded on to the temples having learned a valuable lesson about driving in Mexico. I continued to writhe about unsure of my own state until I say my hands coated in blood. I then sat up on the floor and saw my mother saying something and looking horrified. My hearing phased back in time to hear her say, "Bernie, I really think Chris is hurt." I then dropped back into a daze, hearing only a smattering that sounded like, "son of a" being played on a turntable way too slow. I can only assume he said "That there is a son of a good family."
As is standard operating procedure in a medical emergency, Pops pulled into the nearest gas station and proceeded to fill the tank. For some reason I found this very amusing... here I am bleeding from the head and Dad is filling up with unleaded while Mom shoves Kleenex into the bloody mess.... I just laughed. With the tank topped off, Mom out of Kleenex, and me giggling in my own blood - it was time to head to the hospital.
This was my one and only experience with socialized medicine so the jury is still out as to my opinion. I will say that getting treated was easy - within minutes I was on the table ready for stitching. The conditions were unnerving to say the least. While waiting for the doctor - a dog walked right through the "operating room." And before you assume it was the blow to the head causing these visions - I have witnesses. Despite the dirt floors and occasional canine, the doctor did a great job.
I am not sure if there is a moral or point to the story - perhaps it is that socialized medicine really does work, with some pitfalls; perhaps it is that our scars may heal, but memories last forever; or it could be that when you see something you don't understand - ask questions. I really think it is more likely - don't sweat the small stuff... and everything's small stuff... even gaping head wounds!
Dedicated to Pops who taught me not to waste emotion on things like bleeding - save it for when someone really pisses you off. (haha)
© 1995
cdoelle@canistech.com
(after the surgery - nice bandage huh?)
