If you're dreading Thanksgiving with your family this year, let me give
you a little perspective: At least you're not going to be spending it in
a hospital bed with your butt region broken into several pieces.
I've always had a knack for disrupting the holidays, what with my string
of unsuitable boyfriends, a flirtation with vegetarianism, and an
inexcusably lengthy stint in the grip of existential angst.
But almost exactly two years ago, I rather outdid myself when I broke my
pelvis and tailbone in myriad unfortunate places, the result of a
disastrous landing at the end of an otherwise perfectly good skydive.
After the smashage, I was stuck in a rural hospital, far from my
hometown, for five days. I was released on Thanksgiving, and my parents
made a 10-hour drive to come and gently haul me from my
adjustable-height bed.
That year, I'd have loved what most people my age seem to dread: a
little awkward family time. But I was too high on industrial-strength
painkillers to even communicate verbally. "Moan," was pretty much all I
had to say at first.
"Do you want some oatmeal, honey?" my mother asked me after they'd
hauled my broken butt home.
"Moan!" I replied, which, roughly translated, meant, "No, I don't want
any [expletive] oatmeal, I want some [expletive] turkey and green bean
[expletive] casserole and 14 [expletive] glasses of [expletive] wine."
"Oatmeal, coming up!" Mom said. "I'll mix some milk in it for a treat."
"Moan," I replied tersely.
After I was downgraded to plain old Vicodin, my verbal skills came
roaring back, but I'm afraid my profanity filter had been damaged in the
fall.
Before my accident, I had managed to refrain from using the F-word in
front of my parents for all of my 27 years. But in those horrible days
of recuperation, I said it incessantly, mostly because I couldn't help
it.
I said it when I was trying to learn to use crutches. I said it (more
than once) the first time I tried to sit down on a non-hospital-height
toilet. I said it when I realized there was no cable in my old bedroom,
and the only thing on was Suddenly Susan.
It was an awfully blue Thanksgiving.
But it will go down in history as one of my favorites. For one thing, I
was alive – something that I am not sure I had a right to be,
considering the severity of my accident. For another, I had my wonderful
parents, who, other than hitting me with a rolled-up newspaper when they
found out the method I'd employed to hurt myself, took great care of me
for almost a month.
And best of all, the F-word barrier was finally broken in my family.
Happy [expletive] Thanksgiving.
Jessica gave up skydiving, and took up lawn darts instead. Seemed
safer. E-mail her at jburgess@quickdfw.com.
