Jack Sprat Fell Flat...On His Face

Alan and I slept most of the day away yesterday.  We had pulled an all-nighter on Oscar night.  I know that you're envisioning the Lackeys waltzing from one Oscar party to the next.  Well, it was kinda like that except the second "party" wasn't very fun.  Not fun at all.

Me 'n' Jack

Alan, aka Jack Sprat, is very health conscious.  In fact, he's so healthy that when recently purchasing more life insurance, the insurance agent told him that he's never had an opportunity to quote the low price that Alan's good health merits.  I guess he didn't question Alan about the issue of weight loss.  Alan watches his weight like a hawk.  He was blessed with "naturally thin" genes and cursed with "goal weight" obsessions.  Lately his goal at age 52 has been to get back to his 22 year old newlywed weight.  He goes by the numbers which is not surprising since he has a degree in accounting.   

I was in Waco last weekend for a meeting.  Alan took advantage of the lack of food in the house by eating very lightly on both Saturday and Sunday.  He was about 4 pounds away from his hallelujah weight, so he decided to kick it up a notch.  Sunday afternoon while I was driving home from Waco, he went to Bodyworks and ran 6 miles on the treadmill.  We both pulled into the driveway at about 4:00.  He was all sweaty, and I was all tired.

He showered and I rallied in preparation for a fun Oscar night party that served as a fund raiser for a local private school's One Act Play travel fund.  We arrived at 6:30 and were greeted by a "black swan" that was tucked into a flowerbed as well as a red carpet that lead up the steps to the front door.  Upon entering, we were given a glass of champagne.  Over the next 2 hours, we noshed on heavy hor dourves as we chatted with friends and evaluated Oscar speeches and couture.  Alan enjoyed a glass of red wine with his plate of appetizers.  Having finished his "meal," he accepted the waiter's offer of a refill.  

He and I stood together with our backs partially turned to each other as we were engaged in separate conversations with party guests.  I was talking "Baylor" with a fellow alum.  He was talking banking with the party's host.  Then, it happened.  Alan fell like a board onto the tile floor.  It happened in slow motion.  I heard the wine glass shatter.  I turned and there he was lying face down on the floor with his arms to his sides.  His feet were still cocked in a standing position.  He lay there motionless in a pool of red wine peppered with broken glass.  My heart stood still.  I thought that he had died of an aneurism or some other he-went-just-like-that malady.

The nice thing about the fundraiser is that there were several doctors in attendance.  We were blessed to have an orthopedic surgeon and a neurologist handy.  One of them rolled Alan over and began to check his vitals.  Alan began to respond to questions.  His face was a bloody mess.  I raced to my cell phone to call our family doctor for guidance and comfort.  An ambulance was called.  He was placed on a body board with a neck brace secured around his neck.  Then, off to the hospital we went.

Tests were run, and it was determined that he had simply fainted due to his lack of calories combined with a 6 mile run and a bit of "adult beverage."  If he had fallen on, say, a Tempur-pedic mattress, he would have been fine, and the wine wouldn't have spilled from the glass.  At first glance, the ER doc thought that Alan might have a broken jaw, upper palate, and nose.  Luckily, the only thing broken was his nose.  A lovely plastic surgeon left the warmth of her bed and came to our rescue.  She spent over an hour carefully stitching up the lacerations on his face.  It took about 50 stitches to put him back together.

At 3:30AM, the ER nurse handed me a prescription for some pain medication, and I drove to a nearby all-night pharmacy to have it filled so that it would be ready in case Alan was in pain after we got back home.  He was released from the hospital just after 4:00AM.  As we stumbled into the house at 4:30, his bedside alarm was beeping.  "Get up!  It's Monday!  Get up!  It's Monday!  Get up!  It's Monday!"

Jack Sprat is supposed to stay home until Thursday.  I may have to tie him to a chair.  Next Monday, he undergoes day surgery to get his nose back into shape.  Until then, I am force feeding him milkshakes and pasta.  And, covering all the floors in Tempur-pedic mattress toppers.

It's just another manic Monday (oh-woe)

I wish it was Sunday (oh-woe)

'Cause that's my Funday (oh-woe)

My I don't have to runday (oh)

It's just another manic Monday.