Ladder Safety 101

Never push or pull anything sideways while on a ladder.
This puts a side load on the ladder and can cause it to tip out from under you.

No … That’s not really me on that stretcher … but …
If my wife wasn’t so busy being franticly worried she may have thought to run in the house, grab the camera and get a shot for my blog. Picture that poor bastard above wearing a sweatshirt and that would be me.

"Sir?" What is your name?
"Joe. My name is Joe."
This was really a good sign. This I knew.
Though the EMT didn’t know it. How could he?
It’s not like he knew my name was really Joe.
He just believed me. If I really didn’t remember my name, and guessed … "Rodney" … I think he would have from then on called me "Rodney".

"Rodney, can you tell me where it hurts?"
"All over, but mainly it’s my chest. It's sort of caved-in."
Now, I’m not kidding you on the caved in part.
I distinctly remember flying through the air, landing on top of the ladder, having the wind knocked out of me and not being able to breathe in any air. I thought it was over.
My wife was telling me to stay calm and breathe. She’d be right back after calling 911. Laying there waiting her return. I was finally able to take a breath. My mind then began to assess the damage done to the rest of me. My arms were folded in front of me as if they were trying to keep my chest from falling apart.
Hmmmm. My legs were moving. My head seemed okay. My arms were doing a good job holding my chest together. I wondered what would happen if I let go. I released the hold I had on myself and tried to look down. I had on a sweatshirt and really couldn’t see anything.
I felt around and then I realized the center of my chest was a deep cavity. The ladder had karate-chopped my chest.

"Joe, don’t worry. Stay still. An ambulance is on it’s way?"
I was still gasping for air.
"Honey, feel my chest. I think it caved in."
I could hear the sirens getting closer. She held my hand and we waited.

Back in the ambulance heading for the hospital ...
"Rodney, can you tell me what happened?"
Still gasping for air, I explained.
At the hospital, the usual questions...
What is your name?
Do you have an email address?
Who got your vote for president?
How attached are you to the sweatshirt we're about to cut in half?

There was an x-ray, a CAT scan and heroin (or it may have been morphine) I can’t remember which.
Then came the nurse administrator with the news.
"Joe. Your wife assured my your name isn’t Rodney and it looks like you have two broken ribs."
" OMG! I have two broken ribs? Now what?"
"We’re sorry, there is really nothing we can do for you."
"WHAT? Am I gonna die? You can’t do anything?"
"Rodney, Sorry ... Joe. Don’t be silly! We’re sending you home with a prescription for some pain medication and you should be fine in about eight weeks. Here is some info to take home with you. Take care. Buh-bye."
"Huh? What? Thank you."

Less than four hours after my fall, I was back at home.
I was doped up, in pain and behind on the yard work.
Since then, I’ve been lost in TV land.
I wish there was a screen saver for the eyes.
Everywhere I look there is the imprint of my flat-screen TV.