Head of the class.

First, I want to thank everyone here, on the Great Lileks's site, and via email (frederick_key AT yahoo.com for those of you still communicating the stone age way, like me) for the kind thoughts following the injury that kept me out of action for a few weeks. Spoiler alert: It was a mild concussion, and thank God it wasn't worse.

Here's what happened:

It was Super Bowl Sunday, February 3. The weather was a bit warmer than it had been, causing some ice and snow to melt. That morning I was reading an important essay, "Ten Reasons to Have a Gravel Driveway," in the book pictured above by the indefatigable Red Green. Number 8 on the list:

8) Inertness. Gravel is rock in a manageable size, so it tends to be virtually impervious to chemicals, heat or impact. So don't worry about any gasoline spills or the resultant fireball--the driveway will be fine. Same thing when you fall off your roof; even if you land on something hard, like your head, the gravel will remain unscathed.

Ha-ha, I laugh hollowly, knowing what was to come. My driveway was paved years ago, and resurfaced during another medical mess last year. A perfect blacktop surface for nighttime accumulation of black ice.

Sunday night I was out there with older dog Tralfaz. As usual, he headed toward the neighbors' yard, and I knew why -- because of the ice melt there would be a delicious mud puddle between the properties, and he enjoys a little digestif. I was standing on the grass by the walkway as I saw his fuzzy butt go in that direction, and I said, "Hey, get back--"

When people get hit on the head in comic books the sound effect is usually Wham or Thud or maybe Pow. But when my head hit the asphalt it was like a Ponk, like a bowling ball bounced off concrete, and no wonder. I have had a lot of experience falling (more about that in a moment) and can usually fall pretty well, making those lovely balletic gyrations that may not prevent the fall but A) slow the effect of gravity, B) help ensure a soft landing spot, like my tush, and C) provide plenty of entertainment for onlookers. That didn't occur this time. My foot hit the invisible patch of ice and I went down so fast I didn't know what was happening until it had happened. Suddenly I was on my back with a terrible pain in my head.

Clutching the old melon, I rolled onto my front, feeling the world lurch around me. I had no idea what happened to Tralfaz, but I thought I heard barking. As it turned out, it was another dog. At that time on a winter's evening I would expect to see no one walking around our quiet neighborhood -- only people dumb enough to own a dog, maybe. Like the guy a few doors up from us, who was standing by me saying, "You okay? You need help?"

Knocked silly as I was, in pain, on the dirty ground, head spinning, in danger of puking, embarrassed, my first thought was along the lines of This reminds me of college. My second thought was Oh my God if he falls down he'll sue. So I said something like, "Slipped on black ice! Stay on the grass!"

He was kind enough to go fetch my wife; I couldn't see anything at that point and I think the dogs may have been barking at each other. While he was ringing my doorbell my pride took over and I made the effort to get up. If you've ever read a passage in a book where someone staggers to his feet, you can picture how I looked. Wobbling, still clutching the head, the whole world spinning around me. I knew it was a concussion immediately; I'd seen athletes do this enough times on TV. But I was determined that unless I was in agony or puking uncontrollably I was not going to go to the hospital. Not on Super Bowl night. There are seven nights you don't want to go to the hospital in America, and the others are Christmas, New Year's, Thanksgiving, Halloween, July Fourth, and St. Patrick's Day. Because you don't want to be in the ER surrounded by drunks. And that's the most unfair thing about the whole business -- I hadn't been drinking! I wasn't even watching the football game! I'd been watching the freaking Puppy Bowl earlier!

My wife, bless her, answered the neighbor's call and got me and Tralfaz inside. She planted me on the sofa, where I found that as long as I promised not to budge an inch, the world would agree not to spin like a top. I remembered that this once happened to Underdog, only in his case it was caused by an alien mastermind. In mine it was caused by winter and my own non-master mind.

So that's where we'll leave this thrilling medical drama for the moment: me on the sofa, gripped by fear and nausea, wife trying to get the dogs settled, the canines worked up, sensing that something is wrong. Will I be smart enough to go to the hospital on Monday? Will the dogs learn to walk themselves on icy nights? Will I suddenly be able to play the piano? Will I DIE from my injuries? Come back Wednesday for our next episode of As the World Turns and Turns and Turns!