It’s 11:30 at night, and the bedroom door starts to creak open.

I had been meaning to contact maintenance to get that bedroom door fixed for weeks now.

This night is the nail in the coffin for getting that maintenance request.

The significance of this is that our wonderful cat is not supposed to come into the master bedroom.

However, I think he figured out that he can push it open.

We have a king size bed, so once he gets in it’s hard to shoo him out.

Here’s where I messed up and why you should listen to your parents about running in the house.

Instead of rolling over the bed like a normal person, I decided to go around it.

The series of unfortunate events that follow confirm this parental directive.

I turned the corner, and changed directions with the swiftness of a soccer player.

My momentum was moving forward, and I was going to make it, but…

My second or third step my feet slipped out from under me while my body was hurtling forward.

The next thing I knew I contacted the night stand face first, more specifically mouth first.

I didn’t black out, but I rolled back onto the side of the bed like a boxer who takes a hit leans back against the ring.

I was holding my mouth, the pain not hitting yet, but still wondering if this was going to be the equivalent of being punched in the mouth by Mike Tyson.

I actually cracked the night stand on impact.

As someone who did Shaolin Kung fu for 3 years, and MMA for 6 months, the first thing I do is check to see if any teeth fell out or got chipped.

No chipped teeth, they were all attached as far as I knew.

I may have actually pushed them farther back in than knocking them out.

I was still reeling when I removed my hand.

I was bleeding.

The image in my head was still that one scene from Rocky.

It was me against the night stand and the night stand won.

I was able to get gauze and an ice pack for it, knowing that the dentist doesn’t open until 8, and the medical facility in town does not do emergency mouth injuries.

I had to wait until Chris got off in the morning and go to Mercy Hospital, an hour and fifteen minutes out of town.

Before this though, I made a terrible mistake later on that night.

I took the gauze out and looked at the monstrosity that the night stand mercilessly inflicted on me.

It was a grizzly sight, one I will not share pictures of here, but it looked worse than it felt.

I never said I was good at either of those martial arts I mentioned. I just got good at taking hits.

When we finally made it to the hospital, I thought it was funny that I was being seen for a mouth injury, which was covered by a mask.

When the intake nurse took a look at it I think she felt a little sorry for me, especially when I cracked that joke about Rocky, but could hardly laugh.

I was more or less there to make sure that
two of my teeth wouldn’t fall out because that much gum had been scraped off of them.

Also, I wanted to make sure I didn’t fracture my skull.

Neither of those things was the case, which medically proved what my parents always told me…

I’m hard headed.

Originally, I wasn’t going to take the pain meds, and obviously I wasn’t going to be forced to take them or prescribed them, but I could see this look in the nurse’s eye.

The kind of look that says, “Don’t be a hero, Billy. Don’t be a hero.”

I’m really glad I wasn’t the hero, Billy, because as the day wore on it was like my body was registering more and more what happened.

There are several morals to this story:

  1. Don’t run in the house.
  2. Submit maintenance requests ASAP.
  3. If you think of getting a CT Scan like you’re in Star Trek it’s not so bad.
  4. Don’t fight your night stand, it will win.

I hope this was helpful, informative, and entertaining.

Until next time.

Classically,

Angela

Laura A. Lord

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