As I write this, I’m lying in bed, strapped to a heating pad.
To understand what happened, we need to go back about 3 weeks. I noticed that the heater in my living room was on the fritz. The vents felt hot, but the air wasn’t blowing and it wouldn’t really turn on (or off). Not liking the idea of random people roaming around my pad while I wasn’t home, I waited to get it fixed until my parents were in town. So on Wednesday, aka Thanksgiving Eve, I took my mom to the doctor for her regular appointment while my dad was stationed inside my apartment all day on heater patrol.
When I came home from my Good Deed, I immediately noticed my furniture was askew. Obviously things had to be moved for the workers to get to said busted heater. But I ignored the fact that heat was now flowing freely because the OCD Fairy whispered in my ear. Must. Fix. Furniture. Now.
I think you see where this is going.
As my dad helped my mom off with her coat, I pushed my sleeper sofa roughly 4 inches to the left. Ah, that’s better. But then the rug got scrunched up. So I bent down and lifted the end of the sofa to straighten it out. Ok good. Now that order was restored in the world, I sat on the sofa and realized my coffee table was too far away. I couldn’t be expected to live like this! So I leaned forward to pull a large wooden table (containing several shelves and drawers full of magazines, catalogues, and books) toward me.
I pulled. My back popped.
Actually, maybe it was more of a tear. I don’t know, I’m not a doctor. Either way, I instantly knew something bad had happened. On Thanksgiving Eve.
By 7pm the shooting pains and spasms made it crystal clear I was on the DL. I couldn’t get up, I couldn’t lie down, and I knew there was no way I could drag my sorry ass onto a CT-bound Metro North train for various Turkey Day festivities.
Now, to say my family isn’t great with sudden changes in plans is the understatement of the millennium. But I have to say, they rolled with this one. My awesome brother drove down early Thanksgiving morning to pick up my dad and drop off all the fixings for turkey sandwiches, plus an apple pie, pop-tarts (classic pilgrim fare) and even a cheerful plant. He’s definitely lobbying for Brother of the Year (little did he know, he already had it in the bag). As my dad headed north to represent the family at the official dinner, my sweet mom stayed with me all day and made the most delicious sandwich ever -- with paper-thin turkey, moist stuffing, and tart cranberry sauce, it was Thanksgiving on a Bun.
Fast forward to today: I’ve spent about 89 of the last 90 hours in bed. I feel like Grandpa Joe from Willy Wonka. I might look like him too. I’m much better, but still not great. I think I’ve successfully avoided a trip to the Scary New York City Emergency Room. Still, I could use a hot shower, and I may be getting an ulcer from all the Tylenol I’ve been taking. But I am pretty thankful for my amazing family.
Oh, I also discovered a new channel on TV – LMN (Lifetime Movie Network). I got sucked into their mini-series marathon, specifically Lace, where Phoebe Cates, in all her 1984 big hair and shoulder-padded splendor, turned in her finest performance. In a very strange attempt at a foreign accent (Irish, maybe? Or was it German?), she uttered what could be the best line ever, “Now, which one of you bitches is my mother?”
Even though I filled up on turkey, I still had room for cheese.
So, did your Turkey Day go as planned?