June 9, 2020

Exeter, Devon, England

I’m all beat up. I feel as if I’ve been run over by a bus. I have six stitches in my lower lip, my right arm is in a cast, and I have cuts and bruises all over my body, no concussion though. So I guess things are not so bad as they could be.

Hearing a great hullabaloo from outside, I climbed up into a window well in my bedroom, trying to see what was going on just beyond the hedge at the back of the garden.  Unable to determine what all the commotion was about, I turned around to hop back down and struck my temple against the protruding corner of the crown molding.

Actually, “crown molding” is probably the wrong term, This molding of which I speak is about three feet below the ceiling, and it sticks out from the wall about three and a half or four inches. The convex corner at the window well is wicked.

In any case, I was momentarily stunned and lost my balance. I fell atop my escritoire, my weight breaking its two front legs. I then rolled or bounced off the escritoire to land across the seat of a straight chair, cracking a couple of my ribs.

Breaking lockdown for the first time in almost three months, Trevor and Alistair drove me to an emergency room, where I was seen and treated almost immediately. Now, we three have to wait two weeks to learn whether our little jaunt exposed us to covid-19, In the meantime, each of us is confined to his or her own room, meals left outside the door. Aunt Daphne has loaned me her Kindle in order that I be able to get online, the computer I usually use being downstairs in my grandfather’s study or library. I didn’t even know Daphne had a Kindle.

On the way home from hospital, Trevor said to me, ”You’re a stand-up girl, mad Elaine. What you went through just to get us out the house was above and beyond the call of duty. You deserve a medal.”