I had a nasty fall today. Not something I ever expected. I didn’t even have my clumsy roller skate shoes on. I was just heading, rather quickly, to a car in the street and slipped on some wet grass. Next thing I know, I’m asleep, having a brief dream of working on my company. Then the dream shifts in an odd direction. I’m on the ground in the street and Daniel is talking to me, a cop next to him asking if I’m OK. I shake my head a bit. Bad dream; I need to wake up so I can get back to work.
Not so suddenly but rather in a subtle transition, I am finally convinced that I am no longer dreaming. The idea took some fighting. I wanted this to be part of my dream.
“The ambulance will be here soon, just relax.” This from the cop whose arm seems to be not on my shoulder but a part of it.
“How are you feeling?” I’m not sure who asked that. How am I feeling? In shock, I guess. I don’t know. I can’t feel much of anything. I just feel thick and heavy and I want to go back to sleep so I can wake up in my bed and shake off this whole dream.
The ambulance gets there almost instantly. They check my spine and neck, asking if it hurts. No. I don’t think so. How can I tell? I’m a little preoccupied with what might have happened to my head. My jaw feels a little odd. My teeth don’t match up right. Is it broken? I can move my jaw, mostly. Can’t open it up all the way.
The EMT pulls out a neck brace and tells me that I can’t keep it, even though it’s going to feel so comfortable. I’m so out of it, I don’t realize he’s making a joke. He seems to have a hard time putting the neck brace on me for a second and I worry that my neck might be broken. It takes a while for me to realize that the brace itself is just a misshapen noose with an akward strangle hold on my breathing apparatus. Then there’s the stretcher and the EMT explains that he’ll get in trouble if he doesn’t strap me to it.
“That’s ok, thanks. I don’t mind,” I tell him.
Next thing I know, my forhead is strong taped to a hard plank. The rest of my body securely tightened as well. It’s hard to breath, mostly because of the brace.
“Do you want anything for the pain?”
“I’m cold and I have to pee.” This is all I care about.
“Whose your doctor?”
“I don’t have one. I don’t have insurance.”
“Have you been to a hospital?”
I discount the dozens of hospitals I regularly visited before the age of 15. “Harborview, once, for strep. They didn’t charge me ’cause I couldn’t afford it.”
“Harborview is closed. What about Providence.” This last part is to somebody else.
We end up at Swedish and before they admit me they have me sign a release and agreement to bill. it’s upside down and my writing wrist is nearly broken. My name looks like chicken scratch. “Bill that,” I think.

They let me go after scanning my brain and my jaw. My jaw isn’t broken, one of my teeth just seems to be in a slightly different spot. No blood in my mouth. They checked. My brain seems fine–just the normal perversions and
imperfections.
Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to unlock the natural bind that prevents humans from having eidetic memory.
“An ice pack is your friend,” my doctor tells me. She’s kind. They all were. Next time an EMT asks me where to take my wounded body, I’ll say Swedish. Although, all they physically did for me was give me an ice pack. They gave me paperwork for sliding scale billing. We’ll see how much their arbitrary treatments will cost.

I’m off to bed now, a pocket of dried and semi-dried blood filling my sinus cavity.
I know not the headache I will have when I awaken, but in the meantime, I’ll sleep well and dream of not having a concussion.