Is there an insurance rep in the house?

I am an "accident-looking-for-a-place-to-happen." I have been fallen on and dragged by horses, fallen off the stage during a drama performance in high school, and have had several car accidents.

A couple of years ago, I broke my wrist while riding my son's scooter; that was a very embarrassing situation. To make a long story short, the docs in the ER kept asking me how old I was. I swear I heard giggling as they walked away from my room. The last doc that walked into the room was more business-like, but avoided eye contact and kept the char suspiciously high in front of his face, making only his eyes visible.

"Ms. Roppolo, how old are you?"

"32."

"What were you doing when this injury occurred?" I was in pain, and this line of questioning irritated me. Go ask your giggle buddies, I wanted to scream. Instead, I took a deep breathe and said, "I was riding my son's scooter and flipped over the handle bars."

"Uh huh . . . and . . . how many alcoholic drinks have you consumed today?" I was shocked. Why is he asking me this? I am not a "drinker," so to speak, but I do occasionally indulge in a glass of wine.

"None."

"Really? None at all? Then . . . are you using any drugs, prescription or street?" Again, this question puzzled me. Where is he going with this? What bothered me even more is that John, who had accompanied me to the ER, had a sudden onset of the giggles, which he was trying hard to control.

"No. I'm not taking drugs."

"None at all? Then . . . are you under the care of a mental health specialist?" With that, John's giggles erupted into a full-fledged belly-laugh.

"No I'm not! Are you going to fix my arm?" The doctor lowered the chart and stared at me icily.

"I'll have the nurse to start that now. I'll give your your husband a few minutes to compose himself first. I glanced at John; he was laughing so hard that tears were running down his cheeks.

"What's wrong with you?" I hissed.

"Don't you get it, Deb? He thinks that you either have to be drunk, high, or crazy to do what you did."

Hmph. so much for the physician's creed of "do no harm," I thought bitterly. Unwittingly, he had damaged my ego. The nurse put my wrist in a cast and I went home. So, because of my past, you would have thought that I knew better then to take on my Christmas tree last weekend.

My artificial tree is a monster; it stands over 8.5 feet, and is super fat. I usually don't decorate until after Thanksgiving, but since Mom was here, I wanted her to see my house decorated. Everything went smoothly until it came time to decorate the top of the tree. Though the hour was late, I was determined to complete the task and surprise my family with a stunning tree when they awaken the next morning. I stood in a chair to decorate the front top part, but since my tree was next to the love seat, I couldn't get the chair around there.Seth had been watching me decorate, and finding himself sleepy, used the couch as his bed for the night. I stared at the sofa speculatively. Hmm. The sofa has nice broad arms, and it is right by the tree. . .

Against my better judgment, I climbed onto the arm of the sofa and began decorating the side of the tree. True to form, I lost my balance and fell into the tree. Seth awoke with a start. "Is anything broken?"

"No. I'm fine."

"Oh . . . I-I meant the ornaments." Seth yawned loudly, rolled over, and went back to sleep. So nice to be thought about, I thought wryly. Luckily, the tree was not damaged and in a short time I finished.

The next morning I beamed with pride as my family fussed over my efforts. Not one of them said anything about the obvious noise the night before. I couldn't stand it. "Did you hear anything last night," I asked Mom. "Anything suspicious?"

"I think I heard someone fall."

"Yeah. It was me falling into the tree. Why didn't you come see?"

Mama patted my back comfortingly. "Honey, you've had so many accidents, I guess I assumed that you would be okay."

I've had many accidents, taken many risks. But life is about living, about taking reasonable risks. Even as I write this, I contemplate what my next risk will be; my guardian angel, on the other hand, is begging to be re-assigned.

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