So . . . I'm in the hospital with a dislocated and broken ankle (upon which I cannot put any weight for six weeks,) a dislocated shoulder, and a honking big laceration just above the other ankle. The dislocations have been put right and the laceration has been sewn up with many, many stitches, inside and out, plus a bit of duct tape (or its medical equivalent.)
How did this happen?
Well, I was coming up the steep road by the garden in John's big truck and I decided to stop and get some pumpkins for the Fall decor. I put the truck in Park, mashed the emergency brake, and started to get out.
Which is when the truck began to roll. Backwards and down hill.
Hanging on to the steering wheel, I tried to pull my left leg back inside to re-stomp the emergency brake but the truck was picking up speed and beginning to slew from side to side.
Upon which I realized that my options were limited-- bail out or be dragged.
I let go and things were a bit of a blur after that but I found myself rolling downhill through a nice grassy field. Over to the side, the truck continued to hurtle down the road and at last into the branch at the side of the road.
My cell phone was lying in the grass a little way off and I crawled to it to call John. He had heard the crash and was on his way.
He called 911 and I got my first ambulance ride, watching the mountains disappear behind us.
This has been a a painful, frightening experience but it could have been much worse. (Cue Funeral March.)
And at least it took my mind off The Book.
(No, I still haven't heard anything . . . )