Beware of an injury so severe, a pain so big and bad or a shock so significant, you get up and walk right after it happens. Meaning, if it hurts so bad you can't even cry . . . look out.
Sooner or later we all have to go through it---the kind of experience that is so crushing, you don't crumple, collapse, or even curl up in a ball and lay in bed for a week. Rather, you sit up. Stand up. Straight as an arrow. Eyes wide. Alert. At attention. Forward---MARCH.
When I was a little girl, my pet cat, Tigger, was accidentally hit by a car---in our driveway---and I happened to be riding in the car at the time. I felt the thud when we hit him. (The cat is not the issue. I'm trying to illustrate something. Bear with me.) My poor mother was horrified and cried out that she thought we had just hit the cat, who must have been sleeping in the car's wheel well, one of his favorite spots. But right then I saw Tigger running full speed toward the backyard. I was convinced---he couldn't have been hit. So off we went to my piano lesson.
An hour or so later, arriving home, I was still thinking about the close call we'd had with Tigger, and I felt I should check on him. He had a bed in our extra garage stall (indoor/outdoor cat), so I went to make sure he was alright after his brush with death and to give him a little affection. I reached down to lift the garage door, but before I had it open even six inches, from inside the garage came a blood-curdling, pain-stricken wail. Tigger had, indeed, been hit by the car. The poor thing had made himself as comfortable as possible in his bed, but he was suffering tremendously.
As my parents frantically made arrangements to bring Tigger to the vet, I was still in denial. How could he have run like that if he was hurt so bad? He's not really hurt. He must be fine.
But he wasn't fine.
My mom explained to me that sometimes when an animal is badly hurt, it can still run in that moment, as a means of protection or survival.
Weird.
This gets me to thinking about the time I was in a car accident. Late at night, driving in a wicked snowstorm, I pulled out in front someone who didn't have his lights on. I never saw him coming. I was talking to my boyfriend when, midsentence, WHAM. Neither of us was really hurt, just minor whiplash, but the jolt was violent and rattled my brains something awful. As my boyfriend got out of the car to figure out what happened, assess the damage, and check on the other driver, it became evident that I was struck dumb. Not dumb as in couldn't speak, dumb as in silly---I hysterically made random, nonsensical demands---Where are my cigarettes? Where is my hat? I need to find my hat! Where is it? My hat! My boyfriend looked at me like I was nuts. He couldn't figure out what I was talking about. It wasn't until later that I realized I was speaking out of shock.
But that shock (which, looking back, is actually kind of funny) was nothing, of course, compared to the recent and far more shocking shock of having my wedding called off (which, looking back, is not funny at all). And as for the pain of the thing, sometimes I think I'd be better off having been run over in my driveway.
I have to admit---I was numb for a while---and instead of falling down, I took off. A wounded animal. Running on broken legs. Trying to survive.
A young girl in a wreck, talking gibberish.
And now, as the shock begins to subside . . . and I'm coming to my senses . . . it's time to get out to see if I'm totaled.
I'm not running anymore. And as I curl up in bed . . . I lie down to lick my wounds . . . the adrenaline is wearing off . . . and I'm beginning to realize . . .
It hurts like a -----.
