The office where I’m LMOTP (low man on the totum pole) had a little excitement yesterday.
I was in the hallway when the phone rang. One of the secretaries answered on speaker phone. “Spess Companies.”
A secretary who often accompanies Sister Amy to help her because she’s in a motorized wheelchair identified herself. “This is Carrie Sue. We need help out the back door. This is an emergency.” Her voice was calm but extremely intense.
The secretary answering the phone called over the intercom, “Steve, can you help Carrie and Amy out the backdoor?”
Since I was standing nearby, I took a few steps and looked out. Sister Amy (the Omega to my Alpha) who’s always strapped in her motorized wheelchair, was on her side on the ground on a concrete ramp across the street.
Never let it be said that I do well in an emergency. I don’t. My brain doesn’t function normally but my mouth and lungs go into overdrive. All I know is I have to get to the person who’s in trouble.
I’m not sure what I thought I could do yesterday except maybe lie down next to her on the sidewalk and keep her company.
So I see my baby sister on the ground and my heart turns into a runaway jack hammer and I start screeching, “Hurry, Steve! It’s an emergency! Amy’s on the ground.”
I ran out the door and across our brick street with my hair on fire. When I got to Amy, I saw her face was bleeding and her scraped glasses were lying nearby.
I grabbed her glasses and stuck them in my pocket, and immediately forgot what I’d done.
“Amy! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she answered, but I could barely hear her for the voices of the others who’d streamed out the door behind me. “Are you okay? Are you okay? Are you okay?” Everyone was frantic at the thought that she might be hurt.
Cousin Steve and a man applying for a job got her back on her wheels.
“Where are my glasses?” she asked.
Glasses? Glasses? What are glasses? I wanted to ask.
“I think Susan picked them up,” Carrie Sue told her.
“I did?” I checked my pockets and sure enough, there they were. (Go back and read the part about emergencies and me.)
When she was sure her glasses weren’t lost, off Amy went , back to the office. As many of us as could crowded into the bathroom to help clean up her face.
To be honest, I didn’t want to cause her pain by touching the scrapes on her forehead, cheek and nose, but I couldn’t get more than a few feet from her.
Someone else tweezered the rocks from under her skin and cleaned off the dirt. Amy never once complained about the pain. Her husband came to survey the damage, help her change her sweater and put antibiotic ointment on her abrasions and she didn’t even whine.
When things calmed down and everyone went back to their pre-appointed jobs, I hugged her for all I was worth, and came very near to crawling up on her lap and sobbing for a few hours.
I didn’t, but I wanted to. We took her glasses over to get fixed instead. (And even though we went on level ground the entire way, I kept my hand on the back of her chair, Just. In. Case.
By the end of the day, Amy did have a little headache, but it might have been from the fuss everyone was making rather than the fall.
Thank you, Carrie Sue, for being there with Amy each time she needs you. If she’d been alone it might have been a while before we’d have known she kissed the sidewalk.
Thank you, Steve and the applicant, for being there to lift her.
Thank you, Les, for being able to clean up her face.
And thank you, Carollea, for finding the peroxide, even though it had lost its fizz. (I voted for alcohol and iodine, but Amy vetoed my suggestion.)
If I can, I’ll take a picture of her to post here so you can see what happened.
Now if I can just find a sneaky way to glue a football helmet on her head, I’ll be able to stop worrying.