No Sh__, There I Was!

No sh__, there I was lying on my front porch at 11:00 am on a Saturday morning! After awakening that morning I had looked in the mirror and decided I was too young to have gray hair, so I undertook the messy and smelly process of coloring my hair at home. Mix two ounces of developer with one ounce of color, or was it the other way around? The directions come printed in several languages, but unfortunately are printed so small they can't be read in any language. So I begin by mixing the potion and slathering it on my hair, not to mention the sink, the floor and my favorite towel with the pink flowers.

Once I got all of the smelly, goopy solution cleaned up, with dye still on my hair, I attempted to put my beagle out. This entails navigating my electric wheelchair through three doors, reaching outside to grab the chain, and putting the chain on the dog. I do this every day, but this time something went wrong. As I bent over to retrieve the chain, my right sleeve caught on the joystick that operates my chair. Being bent over reaching for the chain meant I was not going to go forward with the chair. Instead, I fell out on to the porch and the wheelchair ran over me.

Fortunately, I had lifeline which means I can summon help by pressing the button on a pendant worn around my neck. In the house is a receiver through which the lifeline operator and I can converse. Lying on the porch with hair dye dripping off of my hair, in my pajamas, I push the button.

The lifeline operator answered and I explained my predicament, shouting as loud as I could so the receiver in the house would pick up my voice from the porch. They are trained to keep talking to you so they can monitor what is going on until help arrives. I continue yelling from my porch which has all the neighbors looking out their windows. This was horribly embarrassing, but got even worse as help arrived.

'Help' consisted of two police cars, a sheriff's car, a rescue vehicle and an ambulance full of paramedics all with lights flashing and sirens blaring! All of this help to get one woman off the porch and back in her wheelchair. As I watch the parade of rescue vehicles arrive, I note all the neighbors still staring out their windows at the spectacle of me in my pajamas, lying on the porch, and my hair still dripping hair dye.

Ready to get up off of the porch and into the house, I play 20 questions with the paramedics. How did this happen? Did I hurt anywhere? What medications did I take, and so on. Once we had established I was not hurt other than my pride, they finally helped me back up and into the chair that had run over me. Finally, I could get me, my pajamas and my dripping, but now blonde hair back in the house.