"Doug will you please get the Christmas stuff out of the attic?"
"No. I hate decorating for Christmas"
"Please.... Pretty please?"
"No"
"Fine. I'll do it myself" This do it myself attitude had both served me well and dumped me in the dirt. This day it would be the later. I march myself out to the garage. Lower the ladder and climb into the attic. Im pushing and pulling boxes into some kind of order. The floor has plywood so there is none of that carefully stepping from beam to beam stuff of my childhood. Im really just waiting for Doug to show up to help. But he has a stubborn streak a country mile wide and he was not planning to come help.
I walk over to get the box in the far corner. Little did I know that was a smaller piece of plywood that was not nailed down. It also did not sit on 2 beams. It sat on one. So it was effectively a seesaw. I stepped on it with full faith it would hold me. Never again will I have full faith in anything in the attic. My right leg went down through the sheetrock. I caught a beam before all of me crashed through. But there I hang. One leg through the ceiling all the way to my hip. The other leg still in the attic. Are you picturing near splits? You should be. I rested my forehead on my left knee. THATS NOT NORMAL FOR ME!! I was 100% convinced my right leg was broken. My pelvis broke my fall on the beam on my way down. I could not move. The pain was unreal. The heaviest majority of me was dangling through the ceiling. Meaning I needed to do a pull up to get back into the attic. One thing you should know about me is I can't do a pull up. Not even one. Not ever. Unless of course my only other options were to live there, just finish the fall or be rescued. Not stellar options. Doug arrived on scene and I can just imagine what he thought when he saw the bottom half of me in the ceiling. Maybe he thought "I should have gotten the Christmas stuff" doubt it. He said "What can I do? Want me to call someone?" Images of College Station Fire Department rolling up with their ladders and smirks and carrying me out of the attic all while assuring me "This is nothing to be embarrassed about" and "It happens more than you think" No. I'd rather die here. Just shoot me. Do not call the fire dept. DO NOT!! I begin pulling myself up. Sheer force of will. There is no other explanation because as I said I cannot do a single pull up.
Finally I am laying on the floor of the attic. My hubby pops his noggin up there. "You ok? Sounded like a car hit the house!" Every girls dream. To sound like a car crashing into a house. Icing on the cake. I feel my leg very cautiously. The pain is a 10 but it feels stable. I move it ever so cautiously. I wonder to myself if I trust CSFD to get me down or Doug and Jacob? I decide Im doing it myself. I will walk on a broken leg if I have to. (This is reason number 984753294 that we live near a level 2 trauma center)
I made it down the ladder and to the bathroom where I just sat down and cried. There was no consoling me. This was ugly crying. My leg hurt for weeks and it turned colors no leg should turn. The hole in the ceiling serves as a reminder to (a) never go in the attic when home alone and (b) do not ever trust the flooring. Spread out on your belly to evenly distribute your weight like when on thin ice.
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