Grit Girl strikes again. When I hear myself talk about her, I feel like I am telling tall tales. But no lying is needed where Rose is concerned. All tales are true.
Let’s begin with the wreck. It occurred after work on her way home in the dark. The cause was the defroster fogging the windshield. Rose tried to pull into a gas station, but could not see the driveway and drove into a deep ditch.
Help arrives. Highway patrol arrives. Dad arrives. A tow truck arrives.
Noone calls Mama until morning. Rose told me about it herself. We commiserated. No shame or blame.
What will you do differently next time I asked? Roll down my window Rose replied.
The bumper got put back on just in time for her next event.
Sigh.
Let’s begin with a vision of a pack of thirty-six eggs. Think of three packs of twelve side by side. Envision picking up this awkward package and then falling backwards with it.
Yep. Happened. Messy.
Now add a seizure in there to mix things up. Slimy Rose down on aisle three.
Co-workers arrive. EMTs arrive. Those pesky questions are asked as strangers in uniform are bent over our mad wet hen.
Rose gets up and tries to clock in on a different register. She has work to do people. Her shift is not over.
Turns out she missed her morning dose of her three meds. The clock struck twelve hours. The eggs were broken. No harm no fowl.
Rose now hates to see the packs of three dozen eggs come through her line. The worst that could happen already happened. The eggs cracked, Rose did not.
She asked her boss if she could watch the video of her seizure. After thirty years of having seizures, she finally sees one. I wonder if her subconscious mind registered an aura that her eyes could not see?
Grit Girl is my hero.
Damn she’s a tough one.
SEIZURE MAMA FLOWER ROBERTS
