A Week From Hell

It started out with Shingles and a bad back and ended with a car crash and a parking lot hit and run.

Let me preface the inevitable and imminent bitch session with the following:

"EVERYONE IS OKAY."

"I AM GRATEFUL."

"I AM STILL GOING TO WHINE."

My weeks of highly irregular wintertime exuberance and "sunny-side-up" daily outlook came roaring to a halt under the oppressively bleak and poisonous inversion-laden skies.

I had been feeling listless, lethargic, completely drained. Then I noticed the pain. That special burning, needle-like pain that sears through flesh, bone and marrow straight to the core of my sanity. It took me about 24 hours to remember what that pain was: Shingles. I checked out my posterior (unfortunately where my affliction likes to 'rear' its ugly head) and sure enough, there was a pox upon my ass. Ugh.

At least now I knew why I felt so crappy. I have a pathological need to know the reason for why I feel "off." Coming from a long line of chemically imbalanced people, I hate to think it's just the usual depression coming 'round for a visit. So boring. So blase. So pathetic.

Then, with impeccable timing, my back decided to really do me in and leave me cripplingly bent over and unable to move (or even breathe) without punishment.

On Thursday, I was finally able to stand mostly erect. I celebrated this development by cooking dinner. Having been unable to stand at the stove all week, the girls had been surviving on leftovers, frozen pizza and chicken nuggets. As I fried up some taco meat, the phone rang.

"I was in an accident," came Savannah's voice, over the 3G network.

"You were in an accident?" The words just weren't computing for me.

"Yes. I was in an accident."

"You were in an accident?"

Again, "Yes."

"What happened? Is the car drivable?"

Then, finally, "You're okay, right?"

I am the absolute worst for having an appropriate mom response in such situations.

Here's my rationale:

1. I knew she was all right because she called me herself and was talking to me calmly on the other end of the phone.

2. As soon as I registered that she was all right, my next thoughts were "How bad is the damage?" "How do I fix this?" and "How much will it cost?"

3. I default to a detached, somewhat angry place. It's a protective move. I have to stay focused and unemotional in order to deal with whatever crisis is unfolding--if I let myself get all worked up, I won't be any use to anyone.

Terri told me that she thinks Jeff would probably react the same way. This leads me to revisit the words of a former therapist who told me that I needed to develop my feminine side--that my way of relating to the world, especially in relationships, was very masculine. I had also been told the same thing when I thought I was having a heart attack instead of going crazy during a panic attack. Apparently, women usually think they're going crazy, while men always think it's a heart attack.

My feminine side decided to show up when I saw Savannah's car. I wanted to throw up. I still can't believe that she didn't get hurt. She had to slam on her brakes at 55 mph on the highway before running into the back of a house framer's truck. He got a tiny dent in the rear bumper.

God is good.

Finally recovered from the shock of the close call and the towing bill (ouch!), I got a call from Gabi. She had just been hit by a car in the parking lot of Smith's. It was a case of stupid teenagers trying to run down other kids. They caught Gabi's leg while turning and she fell across the hood of the car and onto the asphalt.

Her friends got the license number of the car and ran into the store yelling for help. A cop was in the store and came to their aid. Their story really pissed him off, but he had to go deal with a fight that had just broken out elsewhere in the parking lot. (The full moon makes Bountiful a much more exciting and dangerous place.)

When Gabi told me what happened, while limping to the car, I wanted to find those little shits and run them over with my car. Sometimes I just hate people! Surprisingly, Gabi got a call from the pissed off cop yesterday afternoon. He tracked down the car and the kid and charged him with a hit and run. Way to go, copper!

Nothing is broken, but Gabi has once again employed the use of her boot from when she broke her toe. That kid has spent probably half of the past four years in that damn thing! Although it's usually due to her calamity Jane ways--not being run down by delinquents.

Well, I think that just about sums it up. I can't remember the last time I was so happy to see a week end!