A bonk on the head, emergency rooms and laughter ... life is about what you don’t see coming

By Mary Kay Roth

Leaving a friend’s house earlier this week, I whizzed around a blind corner just outside their front door and bonked my head on a low-hanging roof’s edge. Man, it hurt, but I forged ahead and hopped into my car to drive home.

A couple blocks later I realized something warm was running down my face,  the side of my head, and when I reached up to check – my hand was covered in blood. Grabbing a blanket from the passenger’s seat, I attempted to put pressure on my head while driving a stick shift … then determined I needed to find the nearest emergency room. 

Now, I pause here for a moment in my blog to try and remember exactly what I was thinking about when I came zooming out of that house – all the bits and bobs, odds and ends of a worrisome brain: An impending-scary-new president, the brutality of California wildfires, strategies to stop my dog from jumping up on people, how to help friends hurting from broken health, Ukraine and drones, tariffs and debt limits, the always-daunting task of stowing away holiday decorations.  

But I can definitely tell you the one thing I wasn’t worried about: Ramming my head into a roof and landing in a very crowded emergency room. 

So, I’ll start with this handy tip. You can get fast-tracked into an ER exam room when you walk into the place looking like a zombie, blood caked through your hair and over your face.

I would also add another tip. When you stop by the ER at night, always expect a bit of the odd and unusual.

My visit began with a very kind but very beginner nurse who sat me on an exam table and decided the best way to clean out my hair – so the doc could unearth the wound – was to pour water over my head, soaking all my clothes as well as all the sheets on the ER table. Whoa. 

Eventually an efficient, wise and likely overworked physician arrived to examine my head, determining the necessary appropriate medical protocol.  But his probing fingers re-opened my head wound.  

Hence, the nurse re-doused my head with water, then attempted some sort of makeshift compress with a thick rubber band winding around my head that kept popping off.  I volunteered to hold the gauze myself.

At some point the doctor returned holding up a very visible syringe and staple gun, at which point I finally admitted I was just a little scared.

“Why?” the doc asked in amazement, then proceeded to work his magic. 

A couple hours after arriving – after a tetanus shot, many shots of lidocaine and five staples – I was numb, soggy and ready to go home. 

“You’re fine to take a shower and gently wash the blood out of your hair,” the doc advised.

“But what can’t I do?” – I asked.

He paused for a moment. “I wouldn’t go scuba diving.”

Ultimately, wearing a dry pair of hospital sweats, I gingerly walked back to my car, plopped down upon a seat of dried blood and started to laugh.

I think I’m writing this blog to figure out why.

Of course, there were plenty of people in the ER room that night who would not be going home nearly as quickly as I was – plenty of people without insurance and without easy access to health treatment.  I’ve had some whopping headaches over the past few days, but quality medical care has already commenced the healing.  

I was lucky. Ultimately, on that fateful ER night, I found my way home, safe and sound, a place untouched by fire or horrific smoke, a place offering a hot shower and a cup of tea.

Lessons learned?  

My kids roll their eyes when I tell them the universe tries to send you messages. But I truly believe when you don’t listen to that gentle, cosmic tap on the shoulder – ultimately you get a bop on the head.

The trick, of course, is to heed the call.

Over the past few months I’ve attempted to calculate strategies for surviving the next four years of possible calamity, exploring ways to salvage a spirit ragged from the injustices of humankind.

News flash, I don’t believe charging through life – while weighed down with apprehension and unease – is gonna help much.  Because living is almost never what you fret about and almost always what you never see coming. 

Possible new course of action?

There’s an old movie called Broadcast News in which a main character sets aside a certain number of minutes daily – with a timer – and forces herself to cry.

Perhaps I need that kind of contained worry.

Or maybe I need to wear a helmet.  Body armor.

I know this much: For New Year’s this year there will be no huge proclamations or resolutions.  Mostly I’m promising to worry less, laugh more, quiet my soul and – good grief – slow down.

Because when you charge ahead spinning around unknown corners, you very well might plow into low-hanging obstacles. 

But when you brake, decelerate and pause, you’re just as likely to find the beauty of a sunrise – someone with open arms to give you a hug – the melody of a favorite song – a grandchild’s smile – the love of a friend – a crackling fireplace – your dog’s soulful eyes.

Singer Billie Eilish tells us: “There are always going to be bad things. But you can write it down and make a song out of it.”

Or write it down and make a blog out of it.

Or – staples out in 10 days – just go scuba diving.