I'm thirsty. I'm thirsty and I have to pee and I'm sick of sitting here in front of the computer . So get up! Well you see, I'm putting off getting up to take care of these things because my underarms and the palms of my hands are all sore and bruised and my left foot is starting to hurt. That and I'm developing a fondness for the safety of inertia. An embarrassing accident last Wednesday has left me with only one load-bearing foot. So now I'm hopping around on crutches (the least ergonomically designed apparatus ever) and whining alot.
What happened, Steph?!
Well it all started a couple of weeks ago with some leaf raking in the backyard. My 13 year old pal Mr. Brown climbed up on the shed and hopped off into our giant pile of leaves. Then my 14 year old pal WABU followed suit. It sure looked like alotta fun even though something in the back of my mind said it was a bad idea. Still, the next day I doubled the size of the pile and when Mr. Brown showed up I declared, much to his delight, that I was going to jump. With a little coaching, I climbed onto the shed and spent a little time thinking about how much it would suck to sprain or break an ankle. I spent a little more time conveying my fears to Mr. Brown. There was some discussion and debate which turned into me stalling for time while I tried to work up the courage to leap from the 8 or 9 foot roof which really wasn't that tall according to Mr. Brown who kindly stretched his arm up as high as it would go to illustrate that the roof was only a foot or two higher than that. More discussing. We decide it's a good idea for Mr. brown to relocate the pile a bit closer to the shed. I direct him from atop the structure. About 20 minutes into my stalling, WABU busts through the gate and announces that Mr. Brown needs to "get home now!" because he hasn't checked in with his mom since getting home from school and she's none too happy. Aw crap. Now or never. So as Mr. Brown is collecting his things, I launch off the shed and land with a most delightfully surprising spring and no pain whatsoever into the cushy pile of crunchy leaves! Yay! Fun!
About a week later as I'm preparing various variousness for the following day's Thanksgiving feast, I think I hear a car door. OH! Maybe Mark's home early! I run to the living room, hop over the ottoman and peek out the window. No Mark. Darn. I leap back over the ottoman, catch my foot on the blanket, land ALL Wrong on the side of my foot and go down. PAIN! Really bad pain. Loud cursing and rolling around. The cats leave the room quickly... no doubt to snicker out of sight and earshot at my idiocy. I crawl to the freezer for the icepack then back to the couch where I elevate and ice what appears to be a third ankle growing at an alarming rate out the side of my right foot.
Four hours in the ER where most of the staff refuses to make eye-contact, two triage nurses simultaneously grill me with unrelated questions and I'm forced to endure Glenn Beck's nonsensical ramblings on Fox "news" isn't as much fun as I'd anticipated making pumpkin bread from a real pumpkin would be. The P.A. is nice, handsome and has very stylish glasses. He also has big, meaty paws according to Mark, Mark who has slim, delicate hands. I score a set of crutches and an air splint. RICE = rest + ice + compression + elevation. Don't put any weight on it. Eat alot of NSAIDs. There will be a follow up with a specialist. Due to the holiday weekend, that follow up won't happen until this afternoon. I'll be sure to fill you in. Be prepared for more mind-numbing adventures!
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