After my final dress fitting at Fiorella’s Bridal Shop and a few confirmations for the car, the flowers, a simple restaurant, Alberto, Padre Adolfo, we were ready to book a date—August 20th! This afternoon I’d shoot my family (now there was a thought) and my in-laws a blanket invitation and I was done! With one week to target, all that was left was getting the bride ready! As I was grooming myself for the return of my own groom that afternoon, I pushed an arm into the shower stall to turn the water on for my shower, twisting at the waist to avoid the jets, when I froze in that position, knives of pain shooting up my back. After several tiny warnings, this time my back gave out completely. Julian had warned me.
‘Owowowow…’ I groaned helplessly, afraid to move a muscle as water already rained down onto my head, through my hair and onto my face.
That’s what an old bag like me got for soaking endlessly (and in my case recklessly) in the bathtub or in the pool and not changing into something dry afterward. Who did I think I was, the swimmer Katie Ledecky?
I reached out, grasping for the faucet only a few inches beyond my reach as a spasm rocked up my back from tail to neck, and I fell to my knees in agony, my upper body in the stall, my legs sprawled out behind me. And then I was like a larva, completely unable to move. Damn Pilates! Damn Mr. Clean!
I lay paralyzed by pain as the minutes dragged by and I was completely soaked now. I couldn’t think of a single way of getting out of this predicament. Call for help? Never in a million years – I’d have to deal with a million I told you sos.
When I was floating, not only was I easing the weight off my back, but my mind was also at ease – way worth a few odd twinges here and there the next day. Had I inherited my Nonna’s arthritis? Except this was unprecedented. Never ever had I been glued to the floor afraid even to lick my lips. Even my hair was starting to hurt.
But there was no way I was going to lie here for the rest of my days, so I attempted to wrench myself out of the stall and was stopped by my arm, which seemed to have lost any will to live. Or move. There was no more pain now so much as a strange numbness that had spread to my legs and arms. If I lay here, perfectly still, I was OK except for my throbbing headache developing due to the fact that I was under a freezing shower (I hadn’t managed to turn the hot water yet).
With a deep, deep breath, I made another attempt to move, figuring if my whole body was numb, it wouldn’t hurt, right? Wrong. Out of my entire body, the one part I needed to work, my spine, was the only thing that didn’t even understand the concept of numbness. It was wide awake and howling in alarm, refusing to budge a single inch.
But wait – if I crouched like this, like a cat, arching my spine way out of whack so I looked like I was praying to a tiny insect on the floor, it actually didn’t hurt that much. I tested my new position, managing to breathe even. Still with my back arched, I crawled backward, banging my knee, but the stars dancing in my eyes were nothing compared to when I actually, in the same breath, tried to straighten my back slightly because I was getting cramps. Now what? And then there was a knock on my door.
‘Are you still there?’ Paul said. ‘Julian’s going to be home in an hour or so. Chop-chop – let’s get this beauty show on the road!’
Him and his makeover obsession.
I glared at him as he took a step into the room, taking one look at me. ‘You don’t look very good – what’s wrong?’
‘It’s OK,’ I wheezed. ‘It’s just my back. Turn off the sh—’
Another spasm caught me in mid-sentence and Paul gripped my arm.
‘Do I need to call your doctor?’
‘No, he’ll just say to take a pain reliever.’
‘Did you?’
‘I’d shake my head, but…’
‘Top drawer as usual?’
‘Yes. But this is a different kind of pain, Paul. I don’t think a pill is going to cut it.’
Half an hour later, I was still on the floor writhing in pain as Paul fretted over me.
‘Don’t you worry – I’ll get you to the hospital.’
‘How? I can’t move.’
‘Then let me call an ambulance.’
‘And alarm everyone? No. I’ll get to the car,’ I promised as I pulled myself up – and I swear I saw my whole life flash right by me. But I made it to the landing, huffing and puffing so hard it was a wonder the house was still standing.
‘Good girl. Easy – here’s the first step.’
I looked up at Paul for reassurance as we made our way down, and I had to stop at every step, the pain getting worse by the second. Ho, boy. Had I underestimated the whole situation?
‘And here we—’
‘Yeowwh…!’ I screamed helplessly as my feet touched the last step and the pain shot up.
I could feel it disc after disc, flooring me completely as my grip on the railing failed and Paul’s hands weren’t enough to keep me standing.
It felt like my spine was ripping from the inside out. I knew it. My back was always touch-and-go and sometimes, I’d end up in bed for days. All because I hadn’t kept my weight down, as my doctor had warned. Damn my gluttony. I should have heeded the words of caution from Julian. If only I’d listened, I wouldn’t be in this position – this painful position – now.
Paul looked about him wildly for help.
‘You stay here – I’ll go get the car. Rosina!’ he yelled up the stairs as I rested my head on the railing, wanting to die but knowing the ordeal was all ahead of me still.
Man, I hated pain with a passion. How the hell did masochists manage to get a kick out of it?
I lifted my head to see where he’d gone as I couldn’t sit anymore, my whole lower half screaming. What the hell was keeping Paul?
Luckily he came running back, but only to circle the space at the bottom of the stairs like a headless chicken. I lifted my eyes a fraction.
‘Paul, stay calm. With the right massage and some rest, I’ll be OK. I’m not going into labor, you know.’
‘There are no cars!’ he shrieked.
‘What?’
‘Not one! Julian’s got the jeep, yours is at the mechanic’s and I sent Martino off to town with mine to get me some stuff!’
Big gut-wrenching stabs of pain made me double over in a new kind of pain. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I really was in labor.
‘Let me call Renata.’
‘Don’t bother. She’s in Florence for the day with the kids.’
‘So what do we do? I know!’ he cried as I leaned forward into a feline position again, trying to breathe without collapsing onto myself.
He ran out the door, down the hill, disappearing out of my limited line of sight in literally thirty seconds.
The next thing I heard was the sound of a tractor and, believe it or not, coming up the hill was my glamorous wedding planner gay friend at the wheel, his face so white and stiff he looked like a dummy. If it hadn’t hurt so much, I would have laughed.
‘You can’t drive that,’ I moaned, but Paul jumped down to come and get me.
‘The brake!’ I moaned. ‘Pull the brake first!’
‘What? Oh, sorry,’ he cried and scrambled back in before the whole thing careened down the hill again, deluxe wedding planner and all. ‘You’ll be OK!’ Paul cried as he half dragged, half lifted me onto the cart hooked up to the tractor.
I wanted to lash out and kick him into the next field. Well, at least I’d be able to lie down on the soft hay. Only I couldn’t lie down, either, so I sort of pretzeled out, clutching at his seat as he jumped back in and slammed on the gas pedal. Which made the tractor lurch.
‘The brake. Disengage the brake!’
‘How?’
‘Push the toggle and then bring the lever down.’
He obeyed and we were off to a start and I couldn’t help but yowl in pain.
‘No more food – ever again,’ I growled. ‘I swear I’ll go on a diet – lose weight – I promise!’
Paul turned to give me an amazed look, nearly missing a stray cipresso branch that was sticking out into the road.
‘Watch where you’re going or we’ll both end up on a gurney,’ I cried, already seeing the headlines in the news:
Tragedy Between Castellino and Siena: Mother of two and BGFF die in a self-induced tractor crash on a quiet country road.
Paul’s face paled and he nodded again. ‘Hang on, sweetheart. I’ll get you there in no time.’
Who was he kidding? The tractor only did twenty kilometers an hour! It was built for strength, not speed, and the hospital was miles away. Although the roads were good and smooth, the hairpin turns, ups and downs, didn’t do me much good.
‘You better step on it, Paul!’
‘I don’t want to jostle you,’ he argued.
‘You’ll be jostling a cripple if you don’t floor it!’ I argued back, taking a deep breath, trying to keep my cool.
In response, another gut-wrenching stab hit me, as if my spine were paper and someone was going at it with a Stanley knife.
‘OK, got it. Sorry, hun, I forgot how vicious you get. Hey, look, there’s Beppe! His car’s broken down.’ As we passed the poor old dairy farmer, Paul called out, ‘Sorry, pal, not this time!’
‘Stop!’ I yelled, and suddenly, the tractor came to a screeching halt.
‘What? What is it?’
‘Let him in – he’s old and it’s too hot out in this sun.’
‘Are you nuts!’ he said and then turned to Beppe, who in the meantime had reached us.
Paul put the tractor into first gear with a few more screeches as Beppe hopped straight in the back, his hands searching mine.
‘Don’t worry, Erica. I’ll help you. I have cows,’ he muttered, and my eyes popped open in protest. ‘I’m not in labor, Beppe, it’s just my back!’
‘Good enough for me!’ Paul conceded as he took off with a screech and a halt that would have thrown me to the far end of the cabin if Beppe hadn’t caught me.
The old man looked down at me, then shouted something in pure Tuscan dialect, which I completely missed but Paul, who barely spoke Italian, understood.
‘Sorry for the bumps, sweetie,’ he called back at me. ‘You’ll be OK, I promise.’
At this rate, we were never going to get to the hospital.
‘Just pull over and let me die here,’ I moaned. ‘And tell the kids I love them.’
‘Erica, sweetie, please. Hang on!’
‘To what?’ I barked back. Then, insanely, I snarled, ‘Your driving sucks!’
It wasn’t true. Or rather, it was, but I didn’t mean to say it. It just came out, but he looked at me like I’d kicked him in the head, his eyes darting back to the road ahead.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!’ I shrieked as another stab nearly tore me in half. ‘I love you.’
That seemed to fuel him and he accelerated, thank God in heaven.
At that point, Beppe pulled out his cellphone and two minutes later Marco, Renata’s husband, arrived in the car that he only used for special occasions. How sweet.
‘Marco…’ I whispered as he and Paul lifted me and gently put me on the back seat, where the pain slowly subsided and I closed my eyes for the rest of the journey, confident I was in good hands. ‘I thought you were in Florence.’
‘No, I decided to stay behind this time. Good thing I did, sì?’
‘Sì… thank you.’
But when we arrived at the hospital, I was unceremoniously thrown onto a gurney. Paul held my hand past a few doors and then his lips brushed mine.
‘I love you – you’ll be OK,’ he whispered.
‘You betcha,’ I whispered back, wondering if I’d ever be able to walk again.