The Ankle Succumbs*
*So after I wrote this I wanted to think of a funny title. I always liked the word succumb, even though it always looks like it's spelled wrong. I went to check the spelling (I heart dictionary.com) and found out that one of its meanings is, as they so simply put it, to die. My ankle didn't die, guys. But it did suffer some trauma. Let me attempt to set the scene.
I was walking to the train station after work and it was snowing but melting, so there were lots of puddles. Actually, it was very cool looking snow. Looked like Dippin' Dots (the ice cream you get at the mall that comes in little pellets), or bits of styrofoam. Anyway, so there was a puddle that didn't look very deep but that had a pothole on one side of it, and I stepped into it and turned my ankle under.
It's funny, because that very morning I was walking behind a woman who tripped and fell over her shoe or something and wiped out on the sidewalk--on her face, practically--I mean, we're talking wiped out. People asked her if she was okay, and she just said yeah, got up, looked a little embarrassed, and went on her way. And I said to myself, "Wow, if that was me, I would have totally started to cry." Surprise injuries always make me cry. The surprise/embarrassment/pain combo gets me every time. I am a wimp, what can I say. . . .
Then, later that night I fell in the aforementioned pothole (of course, ever so gracefully). The lady behind me asked if I was okay, as people behind you are supposed to do, and I said, "Yeah," but I knew that was going to leave a mark and that crying was imminent. (Ironic because just the other day I was bragging to John and Christy about how I have really strong ankles and even if I step wrong off the curb or something I never get hurt. And they said that was a weird thing to brag about. And I said, "Yep. But it's true." That's what I get, I guess.)
So within the first 5 steps out of the pothole, right on cue, I start to cry. Sigh. Allllll the way back to the train station. I'm sure people thought from my look of pitiful despair that someone had just died or something. Which makes me think, how come I never see people crying while they're walking around? I mean, everyone has probably been sad enough that they wish they could just stay home and cry, but instead they go out, go to work, etc. Anyway.
I went to the doctor this morning and they told me nothing was broken--I know, wimpy--but they did say I sprained it and gave me a spiffy green and white plastic aircast to wear, so now I can put weight on it. Not as good/bad as a cast--I'm weirdly jealous that I missed out on the whole, have your friends sign your cast thing--but I'm glad I'll be able to walk on it. The apartment hunting while on crutches, taking the bus/el/walking from place to place was going to suck even more with crutches.
The good thing about getting an x-ray* done today (Wow, look how optimistic I am--must be because I stayed home from work. . . I probably could have gone in this afternoon, but I decided I needed a mental health day (They should have those, by the way, because sometimes you just really do need one)) was that it replaced my other x-ray memory, which was traumatic. When I was 3 I broke my collarbone and I had to get an x-ray. All I remember--in fact, I think this is probably my first memory in life--was being put in a dark room on a big cold metal table (and to me, being 3, obviously the table felt huge); I was all alone and in pain and very confused. That's not a good first memory, but that's probably why I remember it, because it was so traumatic.
*Let's talk about x-rays for a minute. First, I think it's cute that they gave me a little 1 foot-by-1 foot lead protector to put over my uterus during the x-ray. Even if I don't ever use my uterus, it's nice of them to protect it anyway. Also, what if you could really have x-ray vision? I mean, besides the whole seeing under people's clothes thing (which, I'm sorry, is kind of creepy and a little 12-year old boyish), I'm sure there are lots of other cool things you could do. Like you could go into a deserted parking garage at 4 am (not recommended ordinarily, by the way, and definitely not practiced by me. . . anymore) and not be worried, because if someone was there, you could see them. Or you could tell if your boss was coming around the corner and stop e-mailing your friends. . . of course, if she had x-ray vision, too, she'd know what you were doing already, unless the x-ray vision doesn't work on computer screens, in which case I'm in the clear. Discuss.
And now it's time for some Buffy episodes and planning out my apartment-hunting route for tomorrow.
I was walking to the train station after work and it was snowing but melting, so there were lots of puddles. Actually, it was very cool looking snow. Looked like Dippin' Dots (the ice cream you get at the mall that comes in little pellets), or bits of styrofoam. Anyway, so there was a puddle that didn't look very deep but that had a pothole on one side of it, and I stepped into it and turned my ankle under.
It's funny, because that very morning I was walking behind a woman who tripped and fell over her shoe or something and wiped out on the sidewalk--on her face, practically--I mean, we're talking wiped out. People asked her if she was okay, and she just said yeah, got up, looked a little embarrassed, and went on her way. And I said to myself, "Wow, if that was me, I would have totally started to cry." Surprise injuries always make me cry. The surprise/embarrassment/pain combo gets me every time. I am a wimp, what can I say. . . .
Then, later that night I fell in the aforementioned pothole (of course, ever so gracefully). The lady behind me asked if I was okay, as people behind you are supposed to do, and I said, "Yeah," but I knew that was going to leave a mark and that crying was imminent. (Ironic because just the other day I was bragging to John and Christy about how I have really strong ankles and even if I step wrong off the curb or something I never get hurt. And they said that was a weird thing to brag about. And I said, "Yep. But it's true." That's what I get, I guess.)
So within the first 5 steps out of the pothole, right on cue, I start to cry. Sigh. Allllll the way back to the train station. I'm sure people thought from my look of pitiful despair that someone had just died or something. Which makes me think, how come I never see people crying while they're walking around? I mean, everyone has probably been sad enough that they wish they could just stay home and cry, but instead they go out, go to work, etc. Anyway.
I went to the doctor this morning and they told me nothing was broken--I know, wimpy--but they did say I sprained it and gave me a spiffy green and white plastic aircast to wear, so now I can put weight on it. Not as good/bad as a cast--I'm weirdly jealous that I missed out on the whole, have your friends sign your cast thing--but I'm glad I'll be able to walk on it. The apartment hunting while on crutches, taking the bus/el/walking from place to place was going to suck even more with crutches.
The good thing about getting an x-ray* done today (Wow, look how optimistic I am--must be because I stayed home from work. . . I probably could have gone in this afternoon, but I decided I needed a mental health day (They should have those, by the way, because sometimes you just really do need one)) was that it replaced my other x-ray memory, which was traumatic. When I was 3 I broke my collarbone and I had to get an x-ray. All I remember--in fact, I think this is probably my first memory in life--was being put in a dark room on a big cold metal table (and to me, being 3, obviously the table felt huge); I was all alone and in pain and very confused. That's not a good first memory, but that's probably why I remember it, because it was so traumatic.
*Let's talk about x-rays for a minute. First, I think it's cute that they gave me a little 1 foot-by-1 foot lead protector to put over my uterus during the x-ray. Even if I don't ever use my uterus, it's nice of them to protect it anyway. Also, what if you could really have x-ray vision? I mean, besides the whole seeing under people's clothes thing (which, I'm sorry, is kind of creepy and a little 12-year old boyish), I'm sure there are lots of other cool things you could do. Like you could go into a deserted parking garage at 4 am (not recommended ordinarily, by the way, and definitely not practiced by me. . . anymore) and not be worried, because if someone was there, you could see them. Or you could tell if your boss was coming around the corner and stop e-mailing your friends. . . of course, if she had x-ray vision, too, she'd know what you were doing already, unless the x-ray vision doesn't work on computer screens, in which case I'm in the clear. Discuss.
And now it's time for some Buffy episodes and planning out my apartment-hunting route for tomorrow.
posted by Becky at
6:03 PM
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