There are people who ease into spring—graceful types who sip something citrusy on a patio and transition from one season to the next like a well-written paragraph.

And then there’s me. I prefer a much more abrasive approach apparently—like nearly dying from an allergic reaction to medication, sliding down the concrete walkway at the ballpark like it was home plate, and breaking a toe on a suitcase.

Just eight days into the month, I ended up in the emergency room with a severe allergic reaction to medication that I had taken after getting home from work. I was scheduled for oral surgery the next day and had picked up Amoxicillin prescribed by the oral surgeon and a Tessalon Perle for a nagging cough. Within 15 minutes, I began breaking out in hives. 

I told Rodney that I thought I was having a reaction to one of the medications, so he called our son and daughter-in-law, both doctors at UAMS, and gave me Benadryl and Zyrtec as suggested, but by that point, things were getting worse. My lips were tingling, my throat was itching and by brain was telling me that ripping off my skin was the solution. I started to wheeze and was getting panicky because I wasn’t sure how long I could breathe, so we headed to the emergency room before things got out of control.

A few blocks from the house, I asked Rodney if he would do me a favor.

“Sure,” he said.

“Would you put the flashers on and drive really quickly?” I asked.

The expression on his face changed immediately and the next thing I remember we were parked at the front door to the emergency entrance. Fortunately, the staff got me back quickly and began administering steroids and other medications by IV. Everything after that is still a blur, but the medical team did a great job, and I got to go home a few hours later with more medications to avoid a reoccurrence. I hit stage 3 out of 4 of anaphylactic shock and am very thankful to be alive.

Two weeks later, Rodney and I attended the A-State Alumni Association’s Bark at the Park event at Tomlinson Stadium. I enjoy taking photos of alumni and Red Wolves baseball fans with their furry friends at the park, but this year I took a tumble before ever snapping a picture.

Upon entering the ballpark, I tripped over a poorly placed bike rack that had inched off the grass and onto the walkway. Fortunately, Rodney was carrying my camera bag, so I had nothing in my hands. I initially thought I was going to be able to pull out of it, but as I gained momentum, I began flying down that walkway like a 747. One moment I was upright, dignified, a magazine publisher among people. The next, I was airborne—legs extended, arms bracing for impact, sliding across the pavement like I was stealing home in front of packed stadium. 

It’s been a long time since I’ve skinned the palms of my hands and both knees on concrete. It’s still as painful as I remember, but I don’t recover nearly as quickly as when I was a kid. 

Two days after my ugly slide across the concrete at Tomlinson Stadium, I hobbled around at the house getting ready for a photo shoot. As I walked around the bed to get my shoes, my little toe caught the wheel of a suitcase and I folded. I may have let out a few ugly words as I crawled onto the bed. I tried to put pressure on my toe to stop the throbbing, but there was little doubt that it was broken. Seriously, how can one little pinky toe take you to your knees so quickly? There’s nothing much you can do at that point but put your knee brace on, shove your foot into a tennis shoe and hobble out the door.

Simply put, April was brutal. 

Whether it’s a medical scare or an unfortunate encounter with a bike rack or a suitcase, the goal is the same: get back up, brush it off and keep moving forward—even if you limp a little. So yes, I slid into spring this year. Not gracefully, not intentionally, but memorably. 

Fortunately, May is just a few days away. I’m hoping it will be a kinder, gentler month, but just in case, I’ve already asked the kids to consider getting me some rolls of bubble wrap for Mother’s Day. For now, I’m counting my blessings and thanking God for not tagging me out in April.