Promises, Promises….

Promises, Promises….

By Mark Leitheiser

It started as a promise and promises are meant to be kept. But I broke my promise and the rest, as they say, is history. The promise was that I wouldn’t tackle the job alone, in this case, painting the north peak of our country home. One glance from the ground illuminated the potential pitfalls of the job. Not only was the peak nearly 30 feet high but I would have to place my fully-extended ladder on the roof of an entryway addition and then reach out over the top of my ladder over another narrow, slanting roof to paint the peak. What could possibly go wrong?

It was a sunny, autumn afternoon that beckoned me to the peak. In truth, I was mindful of my promise to Sweetums but it just didn’t seem like the kind of day when things could go wrong. Why bother someone when I knew I could handle things myself?

And, it must be stated, I had a good start on the job. I quickly patched a hole and painted the apex of the roof when I realized that if I climbed even higher and put my left foot up on the peak, I could paint a few more feet before moving the ladder. Did I know it was dangerous? Yes. Was I pushing my luck? Yup, but I had gotten away with this sort of thing my whole life. Why worry now?

As I reached out for that last swipe of paint, physics took over and the ladder flipped me onto the slanted roof where I tried and failed to grab something - anything - to stop my roll. I remember thinking, I’m going over and then proceeded to free fall 17 feet before crash-landing on our deck - inches from our grill on one side and a glass table on the other.

I don’t remember the fall but the landing must have been violent. The next thing I remember was trying to stand up with what felt like red-hot spears shooting up my left arm. From a side view it looked like the letter S from the swelling which was already wrapping around my watch. I wasn’t thinking clearly, but I knew I was hurt and needed help. Which was a problem because I was alone and my phone was in the house.

Don’t ask me how I made it through the two doors into the kitchen to my phone. I don’t know. I suppose it was one of those adrenaline-fueled survival things. If getting there wasn’t hard enough, things got worse when I reached my phone. The adrenaline or shock or whatever it was suddenly took control of my body causing it to shake uncontrollably. Dialing my phone, I looked more like a whack a mole contestant than a guy calling for help. Finally, after nearly calling a pizzeria in Des Moines, I finally was able to hit 9-1-1 and help was on the way.

A big shout out to the boys on the Fairfax ambulance crew is necessary here. On a perfect fall day, I doubt they were thrilled about leaving their harvest work to take care of an idiot who had fallen off his roof. Thankfully, they were gracious and rushed me to the hospital in New Ulm where a number of unpleasant surprises awaited me.

I foolishly assumed the staff would put a cast on my arm and send me home. My first hint to the contrary was feeling my clothes being cut off and an IV being poked into my arm. Apparently this was a little more serious than I thought. After a thorough examination and multiple scans, the damage was tallied: I had a broken right wrist, a crushed left wrist, a fractured left kneecap and enough cuts and bruises to qualify for a horror movie. Oh, and just for fun, one CT scan showed that I had kidney stones too.

Surgery on both wrists would be the next day. I had a long road ahead of me.

When I returned home, I learned a number of humbling lessons. The most important was this: caring for yourself after having both wrists surgically repaired isn’t difficult: it’s impossible. My first couple of days were spent leaning back in a chair with both arms lifted in front of me packed in cold compresses while resting on pillows. I felt like a pocket gopher waiting for a Happy Meal.

After a couple of days, it became clear that a shower would be a good idea. This required wrapping both arms in garbage bags to avoid getting my incisions wet. Just imagine “The Creature From The Black Lagoon Takes A Shower” and you’ll have a pretty good idea of my appearance.

Worse, I couldn’t wash myself. While I stood helplessly in the shower spray, poor Sweetums had to scrub me down and wash my hair. At times it felt very much like she was strangling me but she assured me she was just washing behind my ears. Oh.

Finally, Sweetums had to dry me after my shower. It wasn’t a pretty picture for either of us and I’m still not sure if she was giggling or gagging during the process but I do know it wasn’t the end of bathroom challenges.

To put this into perspective, next time you go into the bathroom to do anything you do in a bathroom, try doing it with one working limb - your right leg. Let me know how that goes. Speaking of going, you’re probably wondering how I handled “The Go.” I won’t subject you to the awful details but let’s just say the good folks at Swiffer probably wouldn’t be too happy about how I used their product!

Today, thanks to Sweetums’s awesome help and your kind thoughts and prayers, I am healing well. I can take care of myself and I am back in school teaching my classes. Of course, I have promised Sweetums I won’t finish that paint job myself. This time, I think I’ll keep that promise!