injuries: self-inflicted

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Another Notch in My Injury Belt

December 2, 2009 in Uncategorized by OSO | No comments

First of all, yes, I know, I failed to post on the last day of Nablopomo, but since I knew I had to post into December anyway, the pressure was off. Second, Monday wasn’t quite as bad as I had expected (yay!), but today was way worse. After dealing with some interesting work dilemmas, I decided to go for a run. And a third of the way through the run, I was on some sketchy, uneven sidewalk when my left foot caught on something, and my ankle twisted and gave out. I tried to save myself from falling, which I think only twisted the ankle further, and landed HARD on my hands and knees.

So here I am, lying on the sidewalk (THANK HEAVENS this didn’t happen on the road or I could have added tread marks to my list of injuries), in the dark, li-te-ra-lly SCREAMING because my ankle feels like it’s being stabbed and torched simultaneously (the pain was really un-freakin-believably awful), and it takes several minutes of this ear-shattering hell breaking loose plus gallons of tears before I can even straighten my ankle, and bring my hands away from it long enough to pick up my phone and call Mr. Shoe to come get me because there ain’t no way I’m getting home on foot. While Mr. Shoe is frantically buckling Sweet Girl into the car and racing towards me, I’m sitting on the ground in pain, feeling very, very sorry for myself when I suddenly notice that my right knee is also throbbing. I pull up my pants and notice blood streaks originating from my knee making a very Jackson Pollack-like pattern down my leg. Excellent. It’s not until Mr. Shoe brings my pitiful and still crying self home that I notice that there are actually little bits of skin stuck to the inside of my pant leg. Swell! (Oh, did I mention that my squeamish readers might want to skip this post? I didn’t? Sorry about that. I promise to spare you the picture of the wound, although it IS really awesome and wonderfully gory and gross).

After icing the ankle produced no discernible results and the pain kept getting more pronounced, we packed up and headed to the ER. By the time we got to the ER, my ankle looked like there was a golf ball attached to it, and my knee looked like mincemeat and was so swollen that it appeared that I had an additional giant kneecap below my existing joint. When the doctor asked me to describe what happened, I simply told him that I had wiped out while running. He made all the appropriate doctor noises, and then I showed him my knee at which point his eyes got huge and he said “WHOOAA. You REALLY wiped out.” No sh*t, dude. A few x-rays later I got the verdict: badly sprained ankle, no fracture, road burn on my knee. Ice, elevation, and rest, and I should be fine, which should be easy-peasy with a pre-schooler around, right?! Oh, and percocets for the pain, which are great, but which also had not sufficiently kicked in when I showered and let me tell you, water and soap don’t belong on your body in places where there is no skin. Oh no they don’t.

Anyways, I’m home, and getting reeeeallly sleeepy from the pills, and ready to prop up this swollen, bruised appendage already. So in conclusion, I realize the irony of being back in one shoe, yet again. I also realize that the tag line on my blog is “Tripping Over My Own Two Feet Since the Early 80’s.” *sigh* I couldn’t make this crap up if I tried. Concluding item the second comes from Sweet Girl: “Mama, you should be veeery careful when you run.” You couldn’t be more right, sweets. Concluding item the third: I don’t plan to quit running. As soon as this bad boy is healed up, I’m back on the road, because when I pound the pavement in the future, it will feel like payback to said pavement for tearing me to shreds. (This either makes me persistent, or stupid, I’m not sure which.) Concluding item the fourth: being back in the hospital, even as a patient was really, really nice. Even the smells of that place brought me back to my patient care days, and I miss that work deep down. I love hospitals, I truly do, and I really need to think long and hard about what I’m going to do with that feeling. Off to percocet-induced slumber. G’night y’all.

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An oldy but a goody: Hair Removal Confession

August 16, 2009 in Uncategorized by OSO | 2 comments

Based on the stats, it seems y’all most appreciate the posts wherein I describe my humiliating moments. Thanks? I think? For those of you who don’t know, I blogged privately for six years before launching this blog, and I decided to pull a post from that old blog that I thought you might appreciate. Some of you will remember it and cringe; others who haven’t yet been exposed to my uncanny knack for injuring myself will cringe, then probably point and laugh. Enjoy!

Hair Removal Confession (Originally posted March 2008)

I was planning to go for a swim today at the JCC, but once it started snowing, I decided that the last thing I wanted to do was strip down and throw my lily-white, shivering self into a pool of water measuring less than 85 degrees. However, in anticipation of swimming, I made it a point to engage in all of the requisite hair removal activities that women in our culture are subjected to. Including, you know…ahem, trimming and whatnot. And honestly, I don’t mind doing those things too much. Unless something goes horribly awry. This morning’s rituals were uneventful, but it did bring to mind a certain morning not long ago that didn’t end so happily. It was right before my daughter was born, and I decided that in anticipation of childbirth, I needed to make sure things were, shall we say, manageable in the baby-birthing region. I figured there was going to be BLOOD! GORE! AMNIOTIC FLUID! And I didn’t want things to be unnecessarily messy. Now, keep in mind that I was eight months pregnant, looking more like Melville’s white whale than not. Keep in mind that I also couldn’t actually make visual contact with the anatomical area in question. Keep in mind that I had scissors and pregnancy brain.

Initially things went along quite well (although in retrospect, I’m not sure how I know this since I couldn’t see what the devil I was doing), but then came the fateful snip that took with it a significant chunk of skin. There was that stomach-dropping moment when I realized what had happened but my brain hadn’t registered pain yet. Then there was nothing but blood, screaming, and searing agony. My poor husband rushed into the bathroom when he heard the shrieking and streams of choice words, thinking that I was giving birth right there in the shower. Instead, I had to explain to him, between staunching the bleeding and moans of agony, that my own idiocy had resulted in a painful, bleeding crotch wound. He made the wise decision to simply nod and ask if I needed anything rather than invoke further wrath by laughing out loud at me, but I’m certain I saw a smirk on his face as he left the room. Once the bleeding stopped, I decided things down there were good enough, and I had enough sense to quit before doing any further damage. What’s worse is that once I did give birth a short while later, I KNOW everyone in the birthing room HAD to have seen it, but between contractions and trying to forcefully eject a baby from my girly bits, I didn’t exactly have all the time in the world to explain myself. Nothing like a little private humiliation gone public to keep me humble.

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These boots are made for walking…no, really.

July 29, 2009 in Uncategorized by OSO | 7 comments

My friends, let’s talk a little bit about irony, Alanis Morissette style. Prior to leaving for BlogHer, I had started to run again after taking a hiatus to give my shin splints a rest. But despite the break, I noticed that the pain was starting to come back. For those of you who haven’t had the singular pleasure of life with angry, inflamed tibias I will say for the record that shin splints are a b*tch. A crippling, soul-crushing b*tch that caused shooting fiery pain by the simple act of getting out of bed and walking, sorry limping, to the bathroom every morning which subsequently caused me to contemplate whether or not it might be worth it to just lay in bed and pee myself rather than endure the pain of walking 10 feet. (Dammit, I SO should have picked up one of those GoGirls at BlogHer.)

So like a sensible person, I didn’t run while in Chicago. After that stellar decision, I must have left all my sense in the hotel room safe with the crack I was smoking my valuables, because like an idiot, I brought cute shoes to wear to the conference. Not exactly uncomfortable shoes, but shoes that definitely valued their looks more than their personalities, the cheap hussies. We also stayed at a hotel a mile away from the actual conference. And there was walking at the conference (What?! Walking?! In a huge-ass hotel with conference rooms on five different floors? Nonsense!) And there was the schlepping of toddler and suitcases and carseat and stroller. And then there was pain. OH THE AGONY.

So yesterday I took a look around, found my missing smarts and saw a sports medicine doctor, who x-rayed me, lectured me, and sent me packing with a giant walking boot and firm instructions not to run or walk for exercise for two weeks. In a bitter twist of irony, your very own OneShoe has quite literally traded one single stiletto for this monstrosity.

The Boot

(Can you IMAGINE what irony would look like if I had named my blog One Shirt Off? I might be in a body cast by now! On the other hand, OneShirtOff.com would probably be getting waaaay more hits, no?)

Also, do you know how hard it is to take a picture of your own calf at that angle? But I did it because I’m a martyr like that I love you all very much. Did I mention this thing makes me limp? And that while I wear it my right leg is three inches longer than my left? And that I sound like Quasimodo lurching through our house when I walk on our hardwood floors? And that the noise terrifies the cats and makes them run away and leave me alone? Oh, wait, that’s AWESOME! It will be the one object in our house NOT coated in a layer of fur. Did I mention that it’s 90 degrees outside and this boot is both black and hot and makes my foot ooze sweat? And that I can’t drive with it on? And that ow, it still hurts. Hold me. Please? Boy, aren’t you glad you stopped by to experience this radiant bundle of leprechauns, rainbows, and joy today!

So since The Boot is going to be with me for at least the next two weeks, I think I should name it. Husband dearest suggested “Italy” since Italy is shaped like a boot. As I see it, Italy has loads of carbs, great cheeses and wines, and hoards of gorgeous men waiting to woo me while I break their hearts and declare my love for another while pointing to my wedding ring at which point they collectively decide there’s no point to living. I’m pretty sure The Boot came with none of that swag. Fail. Alas, I turn to you internet. Whaddya think? Any clever names out there for my latest footwear?

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