Go ahead. Do the head tilt.
Anyway, now that we've had our moment, I should get to the point. Yes, I have one. I know. I'm impressed, too.
Deb, Tupperware consultant extraordinaire, was to come over on Thursday evening to close the party. That means, she was going to gather up all of the additional orders placed by our friends who missed the party [and they know who they are--pfft!] and tell us about our free goodies. Although the party would "officially" close on Friday/payday, Deb and her hubster were heading up to Victoria, B.C. for a little vacation and needed to have things tidied up before leaving early in the morning. On Wednesday evening, I received a text from her:
Lisa, I am not going to B.C. this weekend. Mark has been in a motorcycle accident and we are at Harborview in Seattle. Not sure where I will be when we need to close, but I will keep in touch.
Harborview Medical Center is the regional trauma center and its name usually provokes a hideous mixture of horror, fear, relief and hope. If one's beloved is airlifted to Harborview, one has the reasonable expectation of excellent medical care being available to the patient. However, the beloved's being airlifted to Harborview usually means that the injuries were grievous and beyond the capabilities of many other excellent medical facilities.
In other words, ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
Apparently, Mark didn't realize a truck he was attempting to avoid had a boat trailer attached to it. Apparently, Mark went under that trailer. Mark is still alive. Mark came through surgery beautifully. Mark is awake, alert and in remarkably good spirits. Mark also has no feeling from the chest down.
The doctors have been very clear in their point of view that Mark will never walk again, but Deb and Mark both believe otherwise. They're going with the possibility of a miracle. They appreciate the physicians' opinion, but this is what they're choosing to believe.
When told the news of his father's accident, their son Joshua was struck with a deeply irreverent thought. When he shared it with his mother, she insisted that he tell Dad this. At the hospital, Deb introduced the topic firmly. "Mark, Joshua has something to tell you."
Joshua, who I can only assume had a sheepish grin on his face, said, "Hey, Dad, now we can get the disabled hunting permit for you. We'll be able to drive the truck right up to the campsite instead of hiking all that way!"
I believe it was Mark's father who suggested that he might be able to shoot from the truck window.
Mark, I am told, roared with laughter.
Dark. Twisted. Completely inappropriate. I really like this family.
Dearest, if you happen to be in conversation with the Omnipotent Comedian, you might want to drop a word about Mark and the fam. You know. If it happens to come up.