I woke up in the middle of the night a little discombobulated. But once I got my bearings, I could not fall back to sleep. So in my head I wrote the definitive account of how I managed to get myself concussed this weekend.
In the light of day, I don’t remember a single word. But I couldn’t remember who Stannis Baratheon was when turning the TV on for the first time all weekend (screens hurt to look at) because after last weekend’s “Red Wedding” I was sure the season finale to Game of Thrones would find Dany charred by her own dragons, Arya encountering White Walkers and Tyrion drinking poisoned wine, all in very bloody and violent fashion.
So for all who asked, the short of it is that at 5:00am on Saturday, I was about to take my younger son to the airport. I opened the hatchback of my Prius, swung his suitcase up, and clocked my forehead on said hatch which had caught and not provided its expected clearance.
I saw stars. There was blood. I needed a few minutes to compose myself but I’m Chelsea and a job needed to be done so I got in the car for the 45 minute drive.
“I need coffee, that’s why I feel hazy,” I told myself.
“I’m hungry, not dizzy.”
“Of course I have a headache. I just hit my head, hard, on a car door.”
I got us to Dulles and since we had time, I grabbed a coffee and a bit to eat but those feelings (okay, symptoms) didn’t go away. In fact, I started to feel nauseous (“I’m nervous for Colin to fly alone”) and had a hard time finding the right words to say to him.
After his flight departed, I got back in the car and started to make my way home. But something wasn’t right. My friend Kate offered to come get me. My ex-husband was more direct: don’t mess with the head, go to the nearest ER.
So I did. Well, the second nearest because I will always choose the ER at Sibley if given the choice.
48 hours later, my head still throbs though not quite as severely. I’m still a little light of head when standing, though my goal today will be to do more of that. Writing this is going to take all the screen time I have allotted myself for the morning, but I didn’t want to forget, and now I have somewhere to point people who want to know what happened.
Just please, when checking in on me, do not reference Natasha Richardson.