Not Dead Yet

So, I woke up this morning; which is most generally a good thing.

Many of the medical types around here will tell you I am a walking dead man, that the best for all would be for me to be immediately carried to a far away nursing home, shown to my new digs, fed a plate of gruel with a rainbow of horse tranquilizers, lights off for a good night’s rest and assured that tomorrow will be about the same. One doctor I was seeing would ask, over and over, “You about ready to go?”

Finally, I said, “Looky here, Doc, I come here to stay out of these places; not to have you drive me into one.”

I don’t think he enjoyed my saying that. Probably won’t be returning to that particular health office. Oh, well.

Most of my problems are psychosomatic. I really do have a bad cough, hernia, and a bladder infection; but all of my symptoms can be linked back to March 7, 2014, when I had the big car wreck on Highway 71, headed West, about 2 p.m., just across the Travis County line. Traffic was kinda stiff, as usual, but the day was bright and sunny, an almost perfect end of winter afternoon. I was in the outside lane; cruising along at maybe 55 or 60.

Then, traffic started to build in the other lane. I slow to 50 mph. I see and smell smoke; hear tires squealing, hear a collision. Suddenly, there is a car, right in front of me, crossing my lane.

“Sunny Beach,” I think. “I’m gonna hit that car.”

And then, BANG!, I did. I remember standing up on my brake and extending my arms out as far as they would go. When the vehicles collided the weight of my body broke the steering wheel.And that’s a 1972 model steering wheel for a heavy truck with no power steering.

My feet also slammed into the floor of the truck.

Feet, which were already in some pain and distress; now they are really messed up.

Next thing I remember was sitting in my truck on the side of the road. I knew I needed help so began calling friends. Looking down the road, I could see several folks milling about and a couple of fire trucks. After a bit, two men started walking toward me.

Introducing themselves as Austin Firemen, they ask, ”Do you want to go to the hospi- tal?” “Yes.” I reply, “but only to La Grange.” About that time, Tom Johnson, my Austin friend, arrives.

Tom and the Firemen discuss my plight, and it’s agreed that Tom will drive me to La Grange in his car. I had already called a wrecker from La Grange to pick up my truck.

Friends, that’s about all of the car wreck story. Next time, we’ll go into more about doctors – and my trike.