I am normally an extremely clumsy person. I fall down, trip over my own two feet constantly, I bang various body parts on things, and generally I am always sporting a colorful bruise somewhere.
HOWEVER. The past couple of weeks have been extra awesome in the injury department. The week before we left to go out of town, the carpel tunnel issues I have in my left wrist flared up and I spent most of the week having trouble turning the lights on in my car, putting on my seat-belt, or even getting dressed. I kept it wrapped in an ace bandage and it finally calmed down by the time we left town. My husband had to help me take off my bra for several days (poor guy). I had also walked into the open dishwasher and had a giant bruise on my lower right leg.
Unfortunately, The Daughter inherited this magical talent of mine.
I was not happy to find the house we stayed in had stairs … not only did it have stairs, they were tiled. WHO DOES THAT?! I knew, I mean I just knew I would fall down on them at least once.
[I fell twice.]
The first time, I was going down the stairs, and my sandals slipped out from under me. Having had lots of practice falling, I caught myself on the backs of my forearms, and my right leg at the ankle. I ended up with two lovely bruises in the same spot on each arm, as well as an awful one that starts at my heel and travels halfway up my right calf. I almost tore the middle toenail off my left foot as well.
Two days later, I was following The Daughter up the stairs watching her carefully, because she refused to hold on to the railing, when I got to the third from the top stair. My damn sandal (AGAIN!!) caught the edge of the step and I went FLYING through the air up the two final steps and right into the wall at the top of the stairs. It hurt so bad I cried. I jammed my right thumb into the joint and couldn’t move it, and I slammed my bad left knee into the tile floor with all my weight. The Daughter screamed “MOMMY ARE YOU OKAY?!!!” while I sat there on the floor and tried to stay calm and work through the initial shock of the pain. I couldn’t even speak.
Finally I was able to hobble back downstairs where I asked The Husband to make me a giant ice pack for my knee and sat there the rest of the night feeling like utter crap.
Things I haven’t been able to do with my right hand – pull down my pants (I have created a system for this), open any kind of jar, hold a knife, or brush my hair.
Yesterday, my carpel tunnel flared in my left hand again, and now I have two gimpy hands. I had to ask my husband to brush my hair last night after my shower because I hadn’t been able to in a few days. It was a complete rats nest. First time in seven years he has had to help me brush my hair.
I am so over it, and wondering what the universe is trying to tell me.
I’m just done. That’s all for today. Both hands are cramping. Yay.
Peace.
nonwriterwriting 