LJ Idol Season 9 Week 10 - It's a Cold and It's a Broken Hallelujah
o/` "I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah" o/`
-- "Hallelujah" performed by Leonard Cohen
What's black and blue and embarrassed all over?
My ego.
Mr. Shapeshifter and I had lived together only six months --- I still couldn't believe he wanted me as his wife --- when I suffered my first fall indicating the onset of the early stages of the disease. We sat in two elderly horsehair rockers talking while a stupid comedy show involving mostly naked girls on trampolines played in the background. Back then, he had to be sitting in his cubicle by eight sharp and so we usually went to bed early. It seemed like such a simple act which would have such devastating consequences; a tilt of the rocker, a snap somewhere in its creaky frame, and I found myself sitting on the floor in a surprised heap.
"Are you all right?" he asked, gallantly extending a hand.
"I'm fine except for my bruised dignity. Give me a minute and I'll get up on my own."
It didn't happen that way. Neither of us could find any broken bones and I could still feel my legs, but they weren't responding. We made every effort to get me standing again. I tried turning over and slithering back into the chair. That changed my position but didn't get me back into the rocker's seat where I could likely leverage myself up with Mr. Shapeshifter's help. His slight, boyish frame simply lacked the leverage to lift me and we were both strangers in this city. His parents lived over two hours away (and didn't even know I'd moved in with him at that point) and my relatives might as well have been on the moon. We had yet to make any friends or acquaintances among our coworkers. The dearth of human contact left us with only one viable solution.
"What are you doing?" I asked in horror as he picked up the cell phone from the computer desk and began dialing.
"I'm going to call EMS."
He said it as though it were the most logical thing in the world to do in this situation and if I'd been someone else, it might have been the case. However, I wasn't someone else. I was a six foot tall, three hundred and fifty plus pound woman. Furthermore, wounds of the past I'd fled here to forget weren't yet scabbed over. Anyone in uniform scared me to the depths of whatever soul I possessed no matter what the profession. I'd been roughed up several times, beaten and threatened at others. Their ghostly images paraded in front of me like corpses haunting a war veteran: the two police officers who had gotten away with beating me twice and then claiming I'd tried to injure them by faking a seizure; the hospital staff who had been coerced into signing off on the paperwork which agreed no seizure disorder was present; the EMS personnel who had complained about my weight and made fun of me. I got it; I had no rights as a human being and didn't deserve help, consideration or treatment because I was fat. I'd had that message relayed to me since my earliest memories but until that fateful day I'd never dreamed the people most of society trusts for their health and wellbeing also held those opinions.
"I don't want you to do that."
"Kitty." His cheeks puffed out with stress as he sighed gustily. "I can't get you up. They can. They do it all the time."
"They won't have the equipment," I warned.
"They're professionals. They'll have something which works."
"They'll laugh at me!" I wailed.
He had the nerve to beep the end of my nose. "No they won't...oh, they're here."
Through the door to our small apartment came a sturdy female EMT and two firefighters. "We can get you standing again," she declared, "but first, let's get some vitals and make certain you didn't hurt anything." Her hands felt gentle and professional as she assessed me. I watched her face for signs of disgust or annoyance but found none. She really seemed to be offering help. "The left ankle's at an odd angle. You'll want to have that X-rayed. All right, boys, we haven't got all night."
"It's not over until the fat lady stands," one of them muttered. I suppose it had been meant as a private comment to his partner but I'd overheard it.
"Can it," the female tech told them in a voice which brooked absolutely no argument. "Apologize for your rudeness and then get her off the floor."
To my surprise the man who had made the comment blushed. "Sorry, it's been a long night and I got carried away."
I offered a small smile. "It's okay. Don't write him up," I called to the female. "My sister's an EMT so I know how rough it gets."
It took all three of them and Mr. Shapeshifter to get me back into a standing position, but they managed to do so. Mindful of the cost of transport, I declined to let them take me to the ER and Mr. Shapeshifter drove me there in his truck. The ankle, it turned out, was badly sprained but not broken. I've since fallen twice more and each time EMS behaved professionally with nothing but concern for my wellbeing. The incidents went a long way toward allowing me to overcome my phobias but I remain stubbornly reluctant to let people help. Now that I'm confined to a wheelchair, every task accomplished on my own is a small triumph. People are well meaning, but if I can still do the task myself then I will.
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah" o/`
-- "Hallelujah" performed by Leonard Cohen
What's black and blue and embarrassed all over?
My ego.
Mr. Shapeshifter and I had lived together only six months --- I still couldn't believe he wanted me as his wife --- when I suffered my first fall indicating the onset of the early stages of the disease. We sat in two elderly horsehair rockers talking while a stupid comedy show involving mostly naked girls on trampolines played in the background. Back then, he had to be sitting in his cubicle by eight sharp and so we usually went to bed early. It seemed like such a simple act which would have such devastating consequences; a tilt of the rocker, a snap somewhere in its creaky frame, and I found myself sitting on the floor in a surprised heap.
"Are you all right?" he asked, gallantly extending a hand.
"I'm fine except for my bruised dignity. Give me a minute and I'll get up on my own."
It didn't happen that way. Neither of us could find any broken bones and I could still feel my legs, but they weren't responding. We made every effort to get me standing again. I tried turning over and slithering back into the chair. That changed my position but didn't get me back into the rocker's seat where I could likely leverage myself up with Mr. Shapeshifter's help. His slight, boyish frame simply lacked the leverage to lift me and we were both strangers in this city. His parents lived over two hours away (and didn't even know I'd moved in with him at that point) and my relatives might as well have been on the moon. We had yet to make any friends or acquaintances among our coworkers. The dearth of human contact left us with only one viable solution.
"What are you doing?" I asked in horror as he picked up the cell phone from the computer desk and began dialing.
"I'm going to call EMS."
He said it as though it were the most logical thing in the world to do in this situation and if I'd been someone else, it might have been the case. However, I wasn't someone else. I was a six foot tall, three hundred and fifty plus pound woman. Furthermore, wounds of the past I'd fled here to forget weren't yet scabbed over. Anyone in uniform scared me to the depths of whatever soul I possessed no matter what the profession. I'd been roughed up several times, beaten and threatened at others. Their ghostly images paraded in front of me like corpses haunting a war veteran: the two police officers who had gotten away with beating me twice and then claiming I'd tried to injure them by faking a seizure; the hospital staff who had been coerced into signing off on the paperwork which agreed no seizure disorder was present; the EMS personnel who had complained about my weight and made fun of me. I got it; I had no rights as a human being and didn't deserve help, consideration or treatment because I was fat. I'd had that message relayed to me since my earliest memories but until that fateful day I'd never dreamed the people most of society trusts for their health and wellbeing also held those opinions.
"I don't want you to do that."
"Kitty." His cheeks puffed out with stress as he sighed gustily. "I can't get you up. They can. They do it all the time."
"They won't have the equipment," I warned.
"They're professionals. They'll have something which works."
"They'll laugh at me!" I wailed.
He had the nerve to beep the end of my nose. "No they won't...oh, they're here."
Through the door to our small apartment came a sturdy female EMT and two firefighters. "We can get you standing again," she declared, "but first, let's get some vitals and make certain you didn't hurt anything." Her hands felt gentle and professional as she assessed me. I watched her face for signs of disgust or annoyance but found none. She really seemed to be offering help. "The left ankle's at an odd angle. You'll want to have that X-rayed. All right, boys, we haven't got all night."
"It's not over until the fat lady stands," one of them muttered. I suppose it had been meant as a private comment to his partner but I'd overheard it.
"Can it," the female tech told them in a voice which brooked absolutely no argument. "Apologize for your rudeness and then get her off the floor."
To my surprise the man who had made the comment blushed. "Sorry, it's been a long night and I got carried away."
I offered a small smile. "It's okay. Don't write him up," I called to the female. "My sister's an EMT so I know how rough it gets."
It took all three of them and Mr. Shapeshifter to get me back into a standing position, but they managed to do so. Mindful of the cost of transport, I declined to let them take me to the ER and Mr. Shapeshifter drove me there in his truck. The ankle, it turned out, was badly sprained but not broken. I've since fallen twice more and each time EMS behaved professionally with nothing but concern for my wellbeing. The incidents went a long way toward allowing me to overcome my phobias but I remain stubbornly reluctant to let people help. Now that I'm confined to a wheelchair, every task accomplished on my own is a small triumph. People are well meaning, but if I can still do the task myself then I will.