The Vegas Voice 11-20

Accidental Thanksgiving
By: Vicki Wentz / Vicki’s Voice
Today is a cautionary tale intended to
remind all that
most accidents occur
in the home. (That is,
most accidents occur in MY home, so if I
were you I wouldn’t visit.) For example:
It was the day before Thanksgiving, and
I decided to boil the sweet potatoes for my
famous casserole, so I’d have one less thing
to do the next day. When there were twelve
potatoes boiling away, in the giant pot that
I’d had since 1974, excess water began
splashing over the side.
I lifted the pot, swung just 3 feet to the
left, poured out some water, and swung back
towards the stove. At that moment, one of the
pot handles broke, and the entire thing fell
from my hands.
Always clear-headed in a crisis, as it fell I
thought “Gee, I bet that’s heavy, I ought to
step back so it doesn’t hit my toes.” At no time
did I think, What about the boiling water!
That pan hit the floor and the water surged out of it like the wave in
The Perfect Storm, engulfing my stockinged feet. I ran to the hallway
and pulled off my socks, and running upstairs, I grabbed the phone as
I raced through the bedroom and headed for the big tub.
In seconds, I was sitting on the side,
running lukewarm water over feet burned
the color of Clinique’s new “Spitfire” lipstick.
The only phone number I could remember
was a friend’s cell, and the poor thing was on
her way to the beach.
When she heard me babbling incoherently,
she pulled into a gas station and calmly tried
to get the gist of the call. After hearing lots
of words like “horrible pain” and “beet red”
and “no skin”, she calmly instructed me to
call my neighbor, Debbie, then promised she
would call additional friends.
Debbie arrived, looked at my feet and said
we should call 911. I said, “Oh, no, a little
Advil and I’d be fine.” She was skeptical.
I lifted my feet from the water and almost
passed out. I suggested that perhaps I’d soak
them a little longer.
Meanwhile, Susan showed up, and very
loudly demanded Debbie to call 911. And
ordered me to stop arguing.
The paramedics arrived. Lots of getting acquainted activity in the
bathroom. I was happy I’d ordered those colorful rugs because ladies,
you just never know where the party might end up.
Bev got there on the heels of the paramedics and sat down on the
side of the tub. One paramedic asked me to lift my feet out of the water.
I told him no. He looked perplexed and decided I needed morphine.
There were now 6 people in the bathroom – we ALL needed morphine.
He stuck a needle in my arm, and as the drug began to flow I started
leaning heavily on Bev. She was soon supporting me completely, which
slid her over the button that turns on the Jacuzzi.
A paramedic had been bending over the water, and when the jets
roared, he reared back and dropped his clipboard into the tub. He was
really mad.
He said, “Ma’am, you’ll have to turn off those jets, this really isn’t the
time.” Not one of your cum laude paramedics.
They eventually got me to the ambulance, and one guy sprayed my
feet with saline solution all the way to the hospital, while I laughed and
cried in a morphine haze.
My son had arrived from college as they were carrying me from the
house, and after assuring himself that I was alive and on drugs, he bent
over me, his face filled with anxious concern, and whispered, “Mom,
are we still having turkey?”
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
60
November 2020
Vicki Wentz is a writer, teacher and speaker living in North
Carolina. Readers may contact her - and order her new children’s
book! - by visiting her website at www.vickiwentz.com.