Ann
Ipock
Humorist,
author, speaker
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Georgetown
Times
Changing light
bulbs can be hazardous to your health
By Ann Ipock June
28, 2006
Talk about a freak accident: Hubby Russell recently fell off the bed,
onto his head, and landed on his shoulder. Said shoulder turned out not
to be broken, thank God, but separated. Ensuing ice packs, Tylenol and
a shoulder sling have brought some relief. But he’s not admitting
to a full recovery yet — he’s no fool — since all that
sympathy would abruptly end.
What happened is this: Contrary to various wild tales, false accusations
and rumors, the story is actually rather boring. Russell was changing
a light bulb in the paddle fan over our bed, perched on his knees. Though
our elevated rice-poster cherry bed is more than sturdy, the comforter
material atop the mattress is quite slick.
The crash happened while I was in the bathtub one night, shaving my legs.
Hey, it was Saturday night and what, with church the next day, it’s
my weekly routine. Sunday Stubble is oh so gauche! As I lay soaking (fully
relaxed) in my herbal-scented bath water, the loud thud startled me.
I jumped out of the tub — — dripping water on the tile floor
and nearly slipping down myself. I ran to Russell, who, was mysteriously
not there. At least, not from the angle where I stood. I rounded the bed
to find him sprawled out on the floor, moaning — feet in the air
and face and shoulder jammed into the carpet.
“Are you all right?” I said, my voice quivering, fearing he’d
broken a bone. After a few choice words, he hollered, “No, I’m
not all right. Can’t you see I fell off the bed?” Then I surprised
myself — I am sooooo embarrassed to tell you this — I started
crying — though I’m not sure why. In fact, in my family, we
women have this sick habit of laughing when someone gets hurt. Stump your
toe on a piece of furniture? Ha ha!
Trip over a heavy box? Tee hee! And if you walk into a cabinet door, we
become hysterical. I know it’s sick — what can I say?
Obviously annoyed, Russell said. “Why are you crying? I’m
the one who’s hurt.”
Good question. I couldn’t even answer it myself. But then he rubbed
salt into the wound by saying, “I should’ve never changed
that light bulb tonight. This probably would’ve never happened if
I’d waited until tomorrow.” Do what? Not very rational, I
thought, while wondering if he’d hit his head on the way down. No,
I’m guessing not — since Russell believes, “Never do
today what you can put off ’til tomorrow.”
Well, he struggled a moment, then stood up and hobbled toward the door.
Drying my eyes and feeling embarrassed, I asked him if he needed to go
to the E.R. He just ignored me. (I think he was too humiliated and irritated
to answer.) Noting my one smooth and one stubbly leg, I jumped back into
my now chilly bathwater, and yelled, “Well, put some ice on it!
And take some Tylenol!” Hey, I don’t have but so much sympathy
in me.
On Sunday morning he woke up in even more pain. He grimaced while struggling
to put on his shirt, unable to lift his arm higher than his chest. At
church, a dear friend (and orthopedist) checked him, saying he thought
his shoulder was merely separated. He advised Russell to get a sling for
his arm and to get an x-ray the next day.
So after lunch we trekked over to the nearest pharmacy, where of all people,
our minister’s wife and son were inside shopping. Sara Dee and Cooper
were the first to hear this absurd tale, besides our doctor friend. (I
think we realized at this point that we’d be hearing lots of wise
cracks.) But while Sara Dee and I chatted about “girl things”
— a new restaurant, the darling new shoes she had on and so forth
and so on — Russell whined. He held out the instructions for the
sling he’d bought and pleaded for someone to assist him. I marched
right over, read the first line and announced, “I don’t understand
this.” (I never understand directions, remember?) Sweet thing that
she is, Sara Dee offered her assistance, while I chatted with Cooper.
The next day at Russell’s weekly staff meeting (he’s a church
administrator) the jokes flew: What were you really doing in bed? Was
it the satin sheets? How many church administrators does it take to change
a light bulb?
Thankfully, the x-ray showed no broken bones, only a broken spirit. Why?
Well, it’s NOT because Russell can’t carry me over the threshold
like honeymooners do, or give me a fabulous back rub that I do so enjoy.
To him, the saddest part is that he can’t play golf for a month
or work out at the gym.
Before this he was a lean, mean machine with several months of renewed
commitment and serious workouts behind him. That in turn makes my life
miserable because he’ll be even grumpier than usual! It’s
been three weeks since the tumble; and we’re heading out of town
tomorrow. I noticed he placed his golf putter in the back seat, which
should give him something to look forward to. I just hope no one needs
a light bulb changed while we’re gone.