To a fearless hero like me, the funny part is that neither of the two patients we flew the other day made me think of my own mortality, despite their obviously traumatic injuries. One ol’ timer had a head wound that contributed more blood to the atmosphere than I can say I thought was possible while still outputting normal numbers on bp, heart rate, sats etc. The other was a person who had made an ill-timed pass and was subsequently thrown from the vehicle. (Who doesn’t wear their seatbelt in 2021? Seriously? Put it on!) A hundred yards away, at the helicopter, I could hear their cries of pain.
But I didn’t think of death.
However, upon returning home last night and laving up yours truly with some Aveeno body wash that my wife picked up for me (it just pours easier, so what?—the Suave charcoal flavored manly stuff takes the strength of Superman to be squeezed out of the bottle and this gets annoying), well upon laving up and in the midst of repositioning myself in the shower, I almost fell, slipping on the self-same lady-parts-soap that has rinsed off and coated the tub floor.
The “almost fell” really means, that while shadow-boxing the water, the next thing I know I feel the wall with my back. I can’t say for sure why I stayed upright, but my right foot dug in and the help from the wall was enough to offset whatever other project the devil had set in motion.
I immediately started laughing. “Only old people fall in the shower! I’m not old,” I chuckled. “And what would I have done if I did fall? I have no rope!” I thought. You know, those ropes on the wall to pull if you need help. “I have no rope!”
It’s true, my 40th birthday is a couple weeks away. What does that have to anything? It just means I’m halfway there. Halfway to 80. Halfway to natural death, unless I get some of them bonus years.
I’m not old. It was the soap.