nezuko: (Default)
It was Sunday morning and I'd already screwed up once. I'd told my friend Phi that I'd get up at nine and write with her, only I forgot. I'd gone to a workshop performance of two new (and really pretty bad) operas the night before, then out for late dinner with friends, and just spaced. So I woke up at 10:15 and there was a text message from Phi saying - Uh, are you getting online for writing or what? Cue me racing around like a mad thing, calling her to apologize, brushing teeth super fast, and hopping online. We write, it's awesome. Time ticks by and the "go to church now" alarm goes off at 11:30. If I leave my apartment at 11:35, I can make it to church by noon, for our 12:30 service.

So I knew I had some slack, and Phi and I were almost done for the day. So I cut the corners a little and finished up. Meant I got to church at 12:20. Ack. The reason to get there earlier is that I'm in the choir and we need to warm up. But Wayne loves me and will cut me some slack on the being late issue. Nonetheless, I get there, and the choir is in a huddle. Just as I walk up, they're de-huddling. Wayne says, O hay, everyone fill Nezu in on the stuff I just told you. So... oops. I missed announcements.

Then I went to do something important, like refill my water bottle or something else unmemorable. As I walk back into the sanctuary, I see across the room that the choir (sans me) is in another huddle, this time with Rev Terri. Not wanting to miss announcements a second time, I decide to sprint across the church.

It is now five minutes to start of church, so there is a large audience in the congregation.

Now what you need to know here is that the church is one of those broad modern wooden buildings with this immense expanse of floor across the front. Carpeted in this hideous brown industrial stuff that's a bit like the rough side of Velcro. And I had just had my shoes resoled, so they were extra grippy.

I run.

A giant invisible rock materializes at just about dead center of the church.

Left foot down, right in air.

Whoah, off balance!

Right foot down, left in air.

Holy crap, tripping!

Both feet in air, body parallel to floor.

Whoah, flying! Aaaah, I'm gonna crash into Rev Terri! Abort flight! Assume crash positions!

I aim myself for the ground. Somehow I have the presence of mind to hold my head up, and fold up my arms to take the impact on my forearms and not break my wrists. My elbows and knees and sternum hit hard.

Ow. Oh ow.

I have successfully stopped short of crashing into Rev Terri.

Owwwwwww. You're in church! Do not say 'fuck'!

The sudden silence in the church is deafening. Then comes the rushing over of people to see if I'm okay.

"I"m okay," I say, from the floor, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Just give me a minute. I'm really embarrassed, and that really hurt."

Two nurses in the congregation come over to make sure I can wiggle my toes. Someone presses sideways on my left knee, which hit the hardest, and I almost take her head off. Ow. Oh ow. I'm wearing long-sleeves and jeans, so the skinned patches on knees and elbows don't show, thankfully. I get up and limp to my seat, and then church starts.

I sing with enthusiasm. I try to radiate 'I'm okay'-ness. My face is still red with embarrassment. My left knee swells throughout the service. My left elbow is sticking to my sleeve.

Ow. Wish I had ice. Please, elbow, do not be getting blood on my awesome bright purple shirt.

At the passing of Peace, several people come up to ask if I'm okay. A few tell me they thought I'd fainted. What, seriously? They didn't see my awesome flying trick? I mean, it was a short lived flight, but I was completely airborne for a moment.

One person, Donna, says the one thing that makes it all okay: "That was an awesome slide. You were totally safe."

God bless all lesbian softball players. (I go to a gay church, remember?) Seriously. Blessings.

Today I'm bruised and scabby and achy, but nothing seems seriously injured. My shoulders, which took the a lot of the force of the impact as it jarred up my arms, hurt about as bad as anything else. Ibuprofen and Tiger Balm and an ice pack or two for me, and maybe I'll skip the shoulder presses at the gym for a few days.

Bet you didn't know church choir was a contact sport.
nezuko: (Default)
If you ever feel like you might be having a heart attack, call an ambulance. Even if the feeling passes, even if you think it's embarrassing, even if you're afraid people will call you a hypochondriac and tell you it's just heartburn or a panic attack, call an ambulance.

If my friend Mikey had called an ambulance, instead of trying to drive himself to the hospital this evening, maybe he'd still be here.

Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe that's not what happened. We don't know.

All we know is that his husband got a call early this evening that Mikey had had a heart attack. He was found in his car, stopped in the slow lane in rush hour traffic on one of the busiest freeways in the Bay Area. Someone called 911, but by the time rescue personnel and the highway patrol got there, he had already stopped breathing.

He was one exit away from the hospital.

They raced him to the ER and tried to revive him, but it was too late. They were unable to do anything for him. At forty years old, Mikey died in his car of a heart attack, one exit from the hospital.

Mikey sang bass in my church choir. He was a larger than life person in every way: 6'4", with giant hands and feet, barrel-chested, blond, and bearded—a bear's bear. He was also the gentlest, sweetest man you could hope to know. He was an expatriate Southern Pentecostal, owned a knick-knacks shop, arranged silk flowers, and always called me 'honey.' "Hi, honey," he'd say, and kiss me in greeting, with a beaming smile. He made me feel like someone special.

He made his husband Wiley feel like a prince.

He'd cooked Wiley breakfast in the morning. Talked to him on the phone at lunch. Had just booked a room at a Russian River resort for a romantic getaway weekend for the two of them. When Wiley finally got home from the hospital, he found dinner prepared: toast in the toaster, chicken stew on the stove.

Mikey left dinner cooking, we don't know why. He left dinner cooking and got almost to the hospital. Almost isn't even close.

I can't believe he's gone. I can't believe I'll never hear him call me honey again. Can't believe I'll never be engulfed in one of his hugs at church, or eat one of his gourmet lunches after the service. Can't believe I won't be sitting next to him at choir rehearsal Tuesday night, listening to his rich bass voice.

My friend Wayne and I drove over to Wiley's and sat with him. Tracked down our pastor for him. Cleaned his kitchen, and put away that last meal Mikey had cooked. Didn't leave until two more friends of Wiley's arrived, to stay with him through the night.

I can't believe he's gone. It doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem fair. The world without Mikey is a darker place. An emptier place. A place I don't quite understand.

I can't even imagine how it must be for Wiley.

If you ever, even for a moment, think you are having a heart attack, call 911. Call an ambulance. Call someone. Just call.

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May 2014

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