Book excerpt from The Granny Monologue by Cindi Walton


It started out as a normal Tuesday.  I use the word “normal” loosely since no one has their boobs squeezed by a machine every Tuesday as far as I recall, but the point is this; I didn’t see that damn bus coming. The one that hit me and I do mean that literally.  I was indeed hit by a bus, it may have belonged to the local nursing home, but it was a bus all the same and it changed my world forever.

        ~ Crap Happens ~

We’ve all used the phrase, “I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus” to describe how our bodies feel when we hurt from one end to the other.  I’m here to enlighten you, when you’re actually hit by a bus, the pain is not evenly disbursed.  I can now speak as an authority on such matters.  Eight weeks ago, after completing my annual Pap smear and mammogram, I left my gynecologist’s office and stepped smack dab in front of the local nursing home transport bus.  I won’t bore you with the initial details, but I was told, “I swore like a sailor, asked Jesus to save me, and then requested that the attending paramedic fetch my purse.”   I’d stuffed my brassiere in the side pocket of the darn thing since I was heading straight home.  In my defense, I highly doubt the person who witnessed my accident had ever been in the presence of a cursing sailor, thus making their judgement about my outburst irrelevant.  This was one of those days when crap happens and you can’t possibly begin to imagine the twist and turns of fate that await you.  It didn’t take long for me to realize I’d never look in the mirror and see myself as I did prior to making that particular bus connection.  I had left the house that fateful Tuesday, a woman who’d just turned sixty the week before and had never felt better or more alive in my entire life.  In the course of one day, one event and one hospital stay…I’d been diagnosed as “Old!”  Now I want you to keep in mind this diagnosis was not made by any health professional that had part of the alphabet behind their name.  There was no MD, DO, or PhD, but rather the word “aide.”

I guess I should back up and give you the Reader’s Digest version of what happened once they scraped me off the pavement and transported me to the hospital, which was just across the street from where I was hit.  I guess you could say I was strategically located in the perfect location if one chooses to walk in front of a moving vehicle.  Once I was delivered to the emergency room, it was quickly discovered that I had broken my left hip and femur, fractured my right wrist and managed to do a number on my neck and shoulders.  Quite clearly I was “up a creek without a paddle” not that I could’ve paddled my way out of this mess if I’d wanted to.  My husband was summoned, surgeries ensued and my world was suddenly a Broadway production with me starring in the lead role.


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