Because Inquiring Minds Want to Know

I decided that I should just type this up and put it out there for everyone instead of having to explain it 90 million times a day...

This is the story of why my parents didn't name me Grace...

2 weeks ago, March 30, 2010 I was standing near the front counter talking with BJ and Taryn when a projectile in the form of Mason came hurtling into my knee. Mason likes to run straight at you and just leap, expecting that you will catch him, and then he gives you a big hug. It works well in theory, however, you need to see him coming in order for the whole "catch him" thing to work. So there I was, minding my own business, when I received a staggering blow to the side of my left knee. Mason may be a skinny kid, but even still, when his full weight collides with your knee, landing feet first, it hurts!

I hobbled around and fought back tears, but then decided that it didn't hurt bad enough to keep me from riding my little pony friend Moira that afternoon. That evening it still hurt, and it was a little bit hard to get comfortable that night. I had a doctor's appointment booked for the next afternoon already, so I decided that while she had the hood up, I'd have her check out my knee too. She pushed and pulled and turned my leg this way and that... and then determined that it was a bruised bone, and to take it easy and use ice as needed.

Ok, I can do that. I took it easy, I still limped and hobbled for several days because it was rather tender. Driving was the worst because there was no comfortable position while sitting down. Several days, in fact almost a week passed. Monday the 5th came and I was still a bit sore in the knee, and taking it easy. I was surrounded by piles of laundry that were threatening to stage a coup and take over the entire house if I didn't do something about them, so I set about tackling that project and was in the process of return a basketful of the troublemakers back to my room when disaster struck at the top of the stairwell.

I had walked/hobbled up all the stairs, all the way to the very last one, and I stepped up with my left leg first (the injured one) and as I had that forward/upward motion of stepping up with the other foot, which unfortunately was still suspended in mid-air, my left foot slipped off the step and back down the one below it. I crumpled in a heap with my left leg twisted below me and I'm honestly not sure where or how my right leg landed, but it was miraculously spared from any damage. I landed in the aforementioned heap with the basket of laundry on top of me. My first words were, "Oh great..." I knew before I moved that I was in trouble. I got up rather gingerly and felt a pain shoot up my leg from my knee to my hip. Uh-oh I thought, that can't be good.

I was right, it wasn't.

The next day, I overslept because apparently if you set your alarm for 5:30 pm, it won't go off at 5:30 am to wake you up... technology, ain't it grand? So I arrived to work 2 hours late, carrying my suitcase packed for my overnight trip to Portland with my sister. We left work about 3:00 on Tuesday, and we finally got out of Blaine shortly after 4:00.

We arrived in Portland at 9:04. We first spotted our hotel at 9:07. We finally arrived in the parking lot of our hotel at 9:42. It took us awhile to find the correct turn, and locate the (very poorly marked) driveway to the Embassy Suites. By this point, my leg is throbbing and feels like it's going to fall off.

We get checked in, and I go downstairs to ask for a plastic bag that I can put ice in to ice my leg before bed. The nice ladies at the front desk, both named Julia (Kinda weird, just sayin') gave me a plastic laundry bag. It's drawstring, it's fairly sturdy, sounds perfect. So I shuffled and hobbled back to the elevator and up to my floor, located the ice machine, only making 1 wrong turn. (It should be obvious by now that my sister and I are both directionally challenged.) I fill my bag with a suitable amount of ice, go back to my room, put on my jammies, and lay down with the ice on my leg.

I'm laying there chilling my leg, sipping some wine, and enjoying some tv when I realize that the laundry bag they have given me has perforations in it. So, I'm sitting there with a bag of ice that is slowly melting as it sits at room temperature, and the ice level is past the level where the holes are. So that effectively killed my enjoyment of icing my leg, because then all I could think about was "When was it going to start leaking on me?" So I dumped the ice out, and tried to get comfortable and fell asleep.

The next morning I got up, and proceeded to sit in a class for 8 hours, and then get back in the car for another 6 hours. I got home and was in SO much pain that I could barely see straight. So the next morning I gave in and called the dr's office again to have them check me out and make sure that I didn't really mess myself up too badly.

For the second time in a week I found myself under the paper sheet while my leg was pushed, pulled, twisted, and turned, this time with far more pain involved. The Dr. used a lot of words like "inflammation" "tearing" "Menial" "Quad" and my personal favorite, "Creptis" (sp?) which to me sounded like "decrepit" and I thought, "Oh great, I'm the Crypt Keeper!" So he prescribed ibuprofen and Darvocet (which I love!!!) and physical therapy.

So now I've got 2 Dr's appointments, 2 physical therapy appointments, and 1 chiropractor's appointment under my belt with 2 more physical therapy, a massage, and a chiropractor's appointment all booked for next week.


Ummmm.... I'll take one of those protective bubbles, please. Do they come in pink?