"Ups he jumps ...."

When I was a wee lad and would take a fall, my dad, if he witnessed the event, would launch into a little rhyme:

Hooray for Robert Rumble!
He doesn't mind a tumble.
Ups he jumps and rubs his bumps
And doesn't even grumble!
Hooray for Robert Rumble!

I'm not sure what therapeutic value the rhyme had--but as I think of it now, I miss my dad a lot--and I wish he'd been around earlier this morning when I took a tumble in the coffee shop.

I was walking back to the counter for a re-fill, tripped on something, and realized I was not going to recover from the fall. (Can't tell you what happened to the coffee cup?!?) I tumbled right into the counter where I was headed, my lower lip and jaw making hard contact just below the line of my lower teeth.

And then I was on the floor, dazed, and people were gathering around asking me if I was all right, and some friends were helping me to my feet, staying with me until Joyce came. There was blood. Pain. The fear that I'd done some serious damage to my lower front teeth.

I called my regular dentist: out of town till Tuesday. Joyce and I drove over to her dentist: out of the office. So we drove down to the office of Dr. Hoover--who, coincidentally, about 30 years ago treated our son for a serious injury from a batted baseball (no, 'twas not I who hit it)--and he worked me in right away. He said he couldn't see any damage to the teeth, but he said I needed stitches, inside and out. So his office set me up with an oral surgeon in Solon, Dr. Reppas, who also worked me in right away.

He gave me about 7,000 shots in my gum and lip, then, when I was thoroughly numbed, gave me about ten stitches in my inside lip, and a few outside as well. Panoramic X-rays showed no further damage. Then ... off to get four Rx's.

I managed a smoothie for lunch (and supper); then, after supper, Joyce suggested that what I "needed" was some Stoddard's frozen custard, which seemed to me to make lots of medical sense.  So off we went for that.

Oh, I also took four-hour nap after taking some meds.

The pain seems manageable right now--though I am on a pretty big med for it--and the oral surgeon said I could start to eat normally (though carefully) as soon as tomorrow. (Though I'll probably--for medical reasons only--need some more Stoddard's in the coming days.)

Meanwhile ... I'm grateful for friends who wait, for my wonderful wife, for some accommodating dental professionals.

But I wish I could hear my dad chant about Robert Rumble: Then I know I'd be better soon.