I was loading the pickup early hours
of the morn. I regained consciousness
lying on the ground with my head
nestled on a sharp rock about the size
of a football.
I was unable to stand, much less walk,
so I crawled to the door and knocked
softly. Alas, I couldn't do so loudly, but
through continuous sound, my guy came
to investigate.
He literally picked me up, threw me in
the pickup and took me to Kaiser. They
took one look at me and sent me to St.
Joe's. After an initial examination, I was
assigned three specialists who proceeded
to give me a series of 16 tests over the
next three days.
I was told that I had indeed cracked my
skull open and that my brain was swollen
against it. Supposedly, it would take about
a year, or a bit more, for the skull to heal.
I would suffer memory loss and perhaps
some coordination issues. One of the docs
was a middle-aged female Chinese specialist.
She, thinking full disclosure was the best
way, told me I might have only a couple
of months to live.
I will remember that day, in a crystal clear
clarity, for as long as I live . . . The docs
surrounding me, their faces, the news given,
and that stern, implacable face delivering
my death sentence. I stumbled out to the
pickup, withdrawn and silent. My man drove
me home without question or comment;
bless him.
And . . . praise the gods, here I am, lo
these three years later, loving, enjoying
live, and dancing as fast as I can . . .
happenstance i ask
was it predestination
the luck of the draw
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