Our health insurance is so horrendous, we know that unless we’re bleeding to death, using it would bankrupt us. We had another opportunity to test this theory recently when a tree fell on me.

Watch Out for that Tree!

What began as a volunteer effort to clear slash piles from our community greenbelt turned into a scary reminder that life can change on a dime.

As we were preparing to wrap up the day, I was about to bend over to pick up my work gloves to leave.  Then, WHAMO! A sickening CRACK! knocked me to the ground.

(this is not the tree that fell on me!)

I  fell, and when I opened my eyes, I swear I heard birds chirping around my head. I wondered “What the hell?

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

A nearby volunteer had been goofing around and decided to push over the one, dead  limb-less tree left in the work area, not realizing that this 25-foot tall log would fall directly on top of me. Everyone saw what was about to happen, but apparently were too dumbfounded to yell out “HEY!”

I never saw it coming as it struck me dead center on my noggin’.

EMTs showed up, a cervical collar was slapped around my neck, and in my woozy haze, my fuzzy mind heard someone say “Life flight helicopter” over a radio.

“Noooo! I will NOT go to the hospital!” I yelled out.

I could sit up, turn my head, see straight and although I felt like hell, I knew whatever had happened wasn’t going to instantly kill me. At that moment I felt strong enough to walk out on my own.

Recollections of my 2001 motorcycle crash came flooding back as I recalled the $8,000 life flight ambulance ride and the $25,000 in medical bills from one emergency room visit. No way in hell would I get in an ambulance. After all, I wasn’t bleeding or unconscious, so I didn’t need it.

After convincing Jim I didn’t need to go, and a long verbal wrestling match with the EMTs, I signed a waiver of responsiblity, and we left the scene.

Brain Hemorrhage or Just a Bad Headache?

Being one hour away from a hospital is a scary thing when you think you might need one. That evening, I felt like I might need a doctor, but I knew if I woke up in the morning, it would’ve been a waste of time and money.

What doesn’t kill ya makes you stronger, right?

The next day I felt like a truck ran over me. So away we went to see a doctor, who gave me mental competency tests to ascertain the severity of the blow.

I never realized how frightening it would be to have a doctor look you in the eye to examine your mental capacities.

After passing the test with a “D,” the doc said to me: “Hitting your head the way you did is just like when a diver hits the bottom of a swimming pool.”

Oh crap.

“You’ve very lucky that you seem OK. But you need a CT scan and x-ray. You could have bleeding going on around your brain and not know it.”

Damn. Medical bills!

Diagnosis: Lucky Girl

I shook all over and wanted to puke, not knowing if brain surgery was in my future. But less than an hour later, I found out I was OK, relatively speaking.

My moderate concussion me out of commission for all of last week and somewhat this week. But after several days of medicinal naps, restricted computer time and general malaise, I’m feeling better. My brain is still playing tricks on me when I try to do things like focus and type, and my neck is still tweaked, but it’s better than having a hole drilled in my skull.

Just another reminder that life is darn short.

Sometimes a lot shorter than we ever think it could be.

Now get off your computer and go live, darnit!

Since 2001, September’s been a sucky month, and I’m not sorry to see it go.

Eight years ago today, Jim and I went on a weekend motorcycle ride in Takilma, Oregon. We needed to get away.

9/11 had just happened. Clients were running scared, business was tanking, and we were stuck with a huge commercial property we couldn’t sell.

Just when life couldn’t get any more depressing, Murphy came knocking.

Or rather, a deer.

Eight years ago today on my last motorcycle ride, I got broadsided by a six point buck. One minute I’m riding my Virago on a glorious fall afternoon. The next, I’m lying on the pavement with EMTs hovering over me, puking all over myself.

I survived the collision. Two surgeries and three years later, my recovery was as good as it was gonna get. Knowing that I had narrowly escaped death changed my life, and Jim’s, in so many ways.

Still, I hate September.

Last year, September 2008 opened the door to more emotional trauma. That’s when we knew that Jerry’s time was at hand. Understanding that he was about to leave us was worse than anything I had gone through with the motorcycle wreck.

But now, in 2009, I really believe that September is going to roll on through without incident.

The Universe has been kind to us. We have our health, our crazy Dawg, and a roof over our heads.

Life is good.