In September, we embarked on a quest: Sunscribe was campaigning for a spot in the Chase’s Mission Main Street Grant program. We had until October 17th to get 250 qualifying votes. Piece of cake? No way!
We laid out our strategy – marketing, press releases, bookmarks with a QR code for voting ease, plus each team member, including my daughter, almost nine months pregnant, had a mission. Really, it was her choice!
Our indie bookstore, a UPS store, and a local pizza place, plus one of our libraries were all supporting our effort and assisting us by passing out bookmarks. Psyched, we embarked on the get out and VOTE! quest. Pass the babies to kiss, we’re in an election!
And then the feeling hit. You know the one that nags and tugs, leaving you to whisper, “Hey, things are going pretty smoothly, and I have a suspicion something’s going to hit the fan and splatter all over the place.” Yeah, well, it did! Two weeks into the campaign. Dum, dum, dum…the shoe dropped, on Tuesday, September 30, and oh what a bloody mess!
I headed out the door for a podcast review at the local radio station. Laptop and bookmarks – check, materials for three meetings – check, coffee – check. I set the house alarm, pulled the door behind me and turned the key. Crash! The storm door careened onto my bare heel, swoosh and slice!
I stared as the blood pooled, forming a gruesome puddle on my front porch. It took a minute for me to shake to my senses, unlock the door and drag myself into the house, sans hounds-tooth heel.
After leaving another bloody trail into the bathroom, I ran cool water, cleaned up the gash, and then made it to my meeting 10 minutes late, neatly wrapped foot in tow, with promises to everyone, including myself, that I would visit the doc for stitches as soon as the podcast wrapped.
Oddly, I wasn’t in any pain, just discomfort. Fast forward: the heel is sliced at such an angle that stitches would bust open. No hope there. Keep foot dry, wrapped and elevated. I still wasn’t experiencing pain.
The rest of the week was pretty quiet; I adjusted to hanging my foot out of the shower and endless bandage changes. Day three, I opted for baths. I slipped on the ever-wet floor, delivering a 4-inch bruise to my thigh.
My routine developed, heels without backs, the most comfortable to keep the weight off the back of my foot, and I breezed into Saturday. Still not in pain, just some discomfort. Then the phone rang at 3:00 am, my son-in-law, calling to let me know my daughter was in labor. She wasn’t supposed to be. This baby was going to arrive three weeks early, even if the doctors had his birth planned by C-section for the following week.
Since my first grandchild was born fifteen months earlier, by emergency C-section, and she was a 9 lb.+ baby, the doctors advised my daughter that she should not go into labor. Alas, babies have their own timetables, because she was clearly in labor.
Hubs and I threw on clothes, tossed food into the cat’s bowls and waved adios to the house. We had an hour drive ahead of us, and we would be taking care of that 15 month old grandchild number one.
After hours in the emergency/operating room, another C-section, baby and mother wheeled into their hospital room to receive visitors. All checked out, and new boy weighed in about three pounds less than his sister, but absolutely healthy. Deep sigh!
Back to campaign mode! If you followed the story, you know we pestered, twittered, and messaged. I’m sure we each lost Facebook friends, from all our pleas to vote.
Then my foot began to hurt. The searing, fiery kind that happens when skin rips. Yep, those little cells were repairing and I was fighting them with every step. But, the body is wondrous, and in spite of the daily damage, nighttime cellular growth won, and the wound is almost, almost closed.
During it all, I see big sister plant proud kisses and pats on new brother. We photograph every angle. Ahhh, baby love, covers all those nasty diapers, sleepless nights, and charms life’s craziness. Pass the babies, I just want to kiss them because they’re so gosh-darn cute! 🙂