Epic Face Plant of Incredibility
So... I have not posted here in a while, very sorry. But I really haven't had much of interest, until now.
At my school, if you are taking a Performing Arts or Production Design class, you are required to put in a certain number of hours helping out with any stage productions that are happening that quarter. This is called practicum.So, I was at practicum, helping out with the set for the Silence Dance Show in the Trustees Theater. There were these steep ramps leading from the house to the stage, and the moment I saw them, I knew I would be in trouble.
I know everyone has some issues with being clumsy and/or gawky, but I was actually diagnosed with lack of coordination as a mental imbalance and athletic disability. I underwent physical therapy for several years, which allowed some improvement, but I was still far behind my peers. This was believed to have something to do with the chemical imbalance of the brain that was also behind the Tourette's Syndrome that plagued me when I was very young. Point is: I fail at sports and/or any other kind of physical recreational activity.
I hadn't had any bad falls for awhile, though, so I thought maybe it was time to go ahead and try to manage. I didn't tell anybody about it, because it's always been a source of embarrassment to me. I made it up and down a few times, barely balancing. Finally, I was heading back to the house with a bundle of chickenwire when it happened: I overbalanced, and fell off the ramp, plunging about six feet into the chairs, and striking the side of my face squarely on one of the blunt armrests.
I sat down, clutching the side of my face, hoping nobody noticed. Immediately, my roommate Barbara (also fulfilling practicum hours) and my production professor are at my side.
Barbara: "Are you ok?"
Me: "Oh, it's nothing. I'm fine, I'm sure."
Barbara: "Move your hand."
I move my hand, it is covered in blood. At this point, I start feeling a little light in the head, and I lay down. When I open my eyes again, there are several more people over me, and Barbara is holding something on my cheek while my professor is wiping blood off of me. I hear the paramedics are coming. I feel totally humiliated and begin to cry.
Professor: "What's wrong?"
Me: "I'm just embarrassed. I'm sorry."
Professor: "If anyone should be sorry, it's me. I designed those ramps."
Barbara: "Don't say that, sir. You didn't know they were gonna be that steep."
Professor: "Yes I did."
Barbara: "Well, surely you were complying with fire code safety."
Professor: "Not really. I just drew them that way."
Barbara: "I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here, but you're making it very difficult."
Professor: *shrug*
So... long story short, the paramedics arrived. It wasn't serious but I did need stitches, so they drove me to the hospital. There, the doctor poked and prodded me like a piece of meat, drove a syringe of novocain all the way through my cheek, and watched his student stitch me up. She was actually very nice, and was telling us how much she loves suturing, and gets excited when emergency cases show up. She was apparently training to be a gyno, and had thusly adopted the habit of telling her patients everything she did in close detail. So I learned quite a bit about sewing people up. Something to remember for the zombie invasion.
When I got back, I did have a nosebleed, and a little bit of blood coming out of the opposite ear, which leads me to think I impacted my sinuses. They didn't take any x-rays, so when I have the stitches removed on wednesday, I'll ask them to check around the cheekbone and the orbital rim for any cracks or fractures.
So... um. Any razor sharp cheekbone jokes you make are technically officially valid.
At my school, if you are taking a Performing Arts or Production Design class, you are required to put in a certain number of hours helping out with any stage productions that are happening that quarter. This is called practicum.So, I was at practicum, helping out with the set for the Silence Dance Show in the Trustees Theater. There were these steep ramps leading from the house to the stage, and the moment I saw them, I knew I would be in trouble.
I know everyone has some issues with being clumsy and/or gawky, but I was actually diagnosed with lack of coordination as a mental imbalance and athletic disability. I underwent physical therapy for several years, which allowed some improvement, but I was still far behind my peers. This was believed to have something to do with the chemical imbalance of the brain that was also behind the Tourette's Syndrome that plagued me when I was very young. Point is: I fail at sports and/or any other kind of physical recreational activity.
I hadn't had any bad falls for awhile, though, so I thought maybe it was time to go ahead and try to manage. I didn't tell anybody about it, because it's always been a source of embarrassment to me. I made it up and down a few times, barely balancing. Finally, I was heading back to the house with a bundle of chickenwire when it happened: I overbalanced, and fell off the ramp, plunging about six feet into the chairs, and striking the side of my face squarely on one of the blunt armrests.
I sat down, clutching the side of my face, hoping nobody noticed. Immediately, my roommate Barbara (also fulfilling practicum hours) and my production professor are at my side.
Barbara: "Are you ok?"
Me: "Oh, it's nothing. I'm fine, I'm sure."
Barbara: "Move your hand."
I move my hand, it is covered in blood. At this point, I start feeling a little light in the head, and I lay down. When I open my eyes again, there are several more people over me, and Barbara is holding something on my cheek while my professor is wiping blood off of me. I hear the paramedics are coming. I feel totally humiliated and begin to cry.
Professor: "What's wrong?"
Me: "I'm just embarrassed. I'm sorry."
Professor: "If anyone should be sorry, it's me. I designed those ramps."
Barbara: "Don't say that, sir. You didn't know they were gonna be that steep."
Professor: "Yes I did."
Barbara: "Well, surely you were complying with fire code safety."
Professor: "Not really. I just drew them that way."
Barbara: "I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here, but you're making it very difficult."
Professor: *shrug*
So... long story short, the paramedics arrived. It wasn't serious but I did need stitches, so they drove me to the hospital. There, the doctor poked and prodded me like a piece of meat, drove a syringe of novocain all the way through my cheek, and watched his student stitch me up. She was actually very nice, and was telling us how much she loves suturing, and gets excited when emergency cases show up. She was apparently training to be a gyno, and had thusly adopted the habit of telling her patients everything she did in close detail. So I learned quite a bit about sewing people up. Something to remember for the zombie invasion.
When I got back, I did have a nosebleed, and a little bit of blood coming out of the opposite ear, which leads me to think I impacted my sinuses. They didn't take any x-rays, so when I have the stitches removed on wednesday, I'll ask them to check around the cheekbone and the orbital rim for any cracks or fractures.
So... um. Any razor sharp cheekbone jokes you make are technically officially valid.