I think I may need professional help for my falling-down ness. It’s getting ridiculous, and it has really stopped being amusing.
Last Saturday, our friend Kent stopped by to gather a myriad of paint equipment, halogen lights, etc. that he had loaned us during our painting party (yes, I know it’s been almost a month since then…we’re bad friends, okay?). I helped him hunt the stuff down, because frankly I had no idea whose stuff was whose. I had just sort of thrown everything into the walk-in pantry in hopes that it would be claimed. Like someone would be at my house, getting cheese crackers out of the pantry and go, “Oh, hey! That’s my 1.5 inch Warner 508 flexible putty knife!” Anyway, we were able to locate almost all of it, except an extension cord, and I told him that Jason would be home in just a second and I’d have him look for it. Well, as Kent was starting his truck, I spotted it. I quick grabbed it and jumped off the back porch to run it out to him….jumped…onto the uneven, unlandscaped, rocky slope in, you guessed it, Dansko shoes. Snap, crackle, pop. Down I went, ankle folded into itself, blinded with that sickening pain and the knowledge that I’ve really screwed it up this time. (And secretly REALLY glad that Kent was already half way down the street and didn’t see it!)
I’m now on stinking crutches in an air-cast, and let me just tell you how hot I look. I’m only using one crutch, hobbling around work looking like Dr. House, only with a worse attitude. My favorite parts are the blisters that are starting to form under my armpit, and the fact that my already oversized backside is now accentuated as I stick it out trying to navigate my way around the narrow hallways on the damn things.
Jason thinks this all started after my breast reduction surgery – and I think he may be right. My world is off-center and I can no longer function in it like a capable human being. Or maybe it’s because I always do these things while rushing somewhere, or trying to save time. Perhaps I should stop that.
So, in the emergency room (which I waited 24 hours before going to, hoping it would get better and the swelling would go down. It didn’t.) I was attended by a pretty, tan, athletic young nurse that had the same injury (the same sexy cast, too) which she got rock climbing. Which, of course, she does between triathlons. Whatever. When the doctor came in to see me, the nurse said, “Look! She’s got the same injury I have!” The doctor looked at me and said, “Oh, are you a rock climber too?” I looked down at my lap and said, “No. Porch jumper. Great sport.”
To further my humiliation, we had dropped the kids off at church while Jason took me to the emergency room. Somehow Annie had gotten the message that I injured myself because I “fell off a desk.” (Apparently one of my children actually said “deck”, but it was heard as “desk.”). So I had the adult Sunday school class praying for speedy healing for me after my big fall off a desk. You KNOW what they’re thinking, and so do I.
Geez, Louise. I’m never getting my dignity back. Not ever.
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