Because Peaches has escaped from our yard twice when Soren and I were home and Ben wasn’t (She would never, ever escape from the yard when Ben is home because she is His Dog, in the sense that she loves him more than she loves anyone in the whole entire world xoxo.) and even though we (Ben) fixed the place she used to escape so she can no longer escape, I frequently check on her when she’s out there — and she really likes being out there when the weather is nice. (Before she came to live with us, she had been abandoned by meth people who apparently never let her in the house, which was heartbreaking at first because she didn’t know how to react to things like sinks and toilets; maybe there’s still a little heart of an “outside dog” [yuck] in her.) (Apparently I find parentheses especially comforting after suffering a minor head injury. They’re like hugs for your words.)
So today when I checked on her and didn’t find her, I went behind the chicken coop to see if she went around to the other side to watch the chickens. She was back there, and I was all hey Peach, good girl, thanks for not digging out and making me run around the neighborhood like a crazy person yelling “PEACHES!!” and making everybody wonder why the fuck I can’t go to the store for produce like a normal person and went back around the chicken coop and bashed my head really, really hard into the point of the edge of the roof. It hurt so bad I couldn’t even yell “FUCK” really loud, which is what I usually do when I minorly injure myself. I cried. I went inside and grabbed one of those blue ice packs you use when you take your lunch to work and don’t have access to a refrigerator. I held it on the side of my head thinking, yeah, this is good. This is what you do so you don’t get a big giant lump on your head. And then I took it off for a second and saw that it had blood on it. Oh, shit.
This was around 11:30. I sat on the couch with my ice pack, now wrapped in a towel, and texted Ben and wondered how bad this was. Then Soren hurt himself and did the thing he does when he hurts himself, which is kind of like what I do but instead of yelling “FUCK” really loud he yells “Owie owie OWIIIIIEEEE!” And I got up and walked from the couch to the kitchen, which seeing as we have a very small house is not a long journey, and was immediately overcome with that horrible thing that happens when you hurt yourself a little more badly than usual and you’re light-headed and dizzy and you see the edges of your vision start to go dark and then you sit down because holy fuck that’s terrible and then you’re immediately bathed in terrible sweat. This is when I start to picture the house like two hours from now, with Soren and the animals doing who knows what while I lie unconscious on the couch. Even if that didn’t happen, it’s creepy to feel like you can’t get up when you have a 3 1/2-year-old running free throughout the house. (To his credit, at this point he was sitting next to me being really nice and holding my hand, but don’t be fooled — that never lasts.)
That’s when I called Ben crying and told him I needed him to come home. Of course this is the day he got a flat tire while riding his bike to work, so he had to get a ride from a friend. Still, one of the benefits of having your entire life in a very small radius, he was home in like 15 minutes.
I was coherent enough to live tweet my head injury and make normal conversation, so that was good. But then he got all strict with me and said that if I wasn’t better in like an hour we’d have to go to the hospital. And I knew that was true, so I held my ice on my head and tried to will myself into feeling normal so I wouldn’t have to go to the hospital.
At 1:00, I managed to walk to my computer in the bedroom (an exceptionally short trip) (I think it’s weird to keep your laptop in the bedroom, but I moved it in there when Soren started walking and it’s stayed there ever since because it’s kind of a nice, out-of-the-way spot for it.) to email my boss that I was taking the rest of the day as a sick day because I hit my head on the chicken coop. Then I was able to walk relatively freely throughout the house and do relatively simple self-care tasks such as eating cereal and making and drinking some green juice. Ben and I spent the rest of the afternoon napping on the couch (while Soren napped in his bed) and I felt like a big giant wuss for making him come home.
Ben says I have a cut on the side of my head, skinny, maybe about an inch long. Apparently it doesn’t look that bad. There’s not really a lump. (I didn’t want to look at it, but it hurt like “FUCK” when I took a shower and washed my hair because I really don’t need to go into the office tomorrow with crusty blood in my hair.)
I’m super stoked I didn’t need to go to the hospital but annoyed at missing my run today. The only thing I dislike more than running is not running. Does that make me sound incoherent and confused? Uh oh.