If I’m wearing my band-aid Ties o’ the Day, I must have caused some damage to my mortal coil. And I did. Golf carts Cufflinks o’ the Day had to rescue me though, cuz I don’t have ambulance cufflinks.
Let me say this: everything is Skitter’s fault. My recovery from my late-June surgery at Huntsman was extraordinary for the first seven months, and then February happened. In the last three weeks I seem to be sabotaging my recovery– all for Skitter. First, I was nearly skewered through my scar by the end of a roll of wrapping paper I ran into, as I left the pantry where I had gone to get a treat for Skitter.
Second, Skitter got chased by a bared-teeth dog, and I ran to save The Skit from a potential lightweight boxing and biting bout with a bully of a strange dog. I should not have run, ladies and gentlemen, but I had to save Skitter. My well-healing innards got jostled in all kinds of wrong ways while I ran. No permanent damage was done, but my guts feel weird in a bunch of new ways.
And third, I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that Skitter has had some weird kidney things going on, resulting in occasional incontinence. She seems to be okay now, but we didn’t want to leave her roaming free in the house to possibly make puddles Saturday night when we went to Park City. We put her in her beddy-bye crate she loves, turned on “her” tv and a light, and gave her a chew. We have never left her alone in the house in her crate before. Ever. She has always had the whole house to party in when we’ve gone out. Skitter was fine, I’m sure. I, however, was a nervous wreck.
Anyhoo… When Suzanne and I entered the garage, I bolted into the house and up the stairs to Skitter’s crate to get her outside to potty ASAP. I unlatched her crate door and out she flew as if she hadn’t had access to potty grass in months. She zipped down the stairs, as did I. I never zip down the stairs, especially since surgery. But zip, I did, for Skitter’s bladder’s sake.
Until I got to the third step from the bottom. I tripped over one of the shoes I was wearing. (I’ve actually called the shoes “my funeral shoes” since I bought them fifteen years ago. I’ll explain why in another post.) I was briefly airborne, and then I landed on a storage bin I’m glad I hadn’t managed to put away yet. I landed on the top edge of the bin with my left ribs, directly opposite my scar. My left knee hit the floor at the same time. I broke the fall completely with my right palm on the floor– which didn’t hurt my hand but jammed my rotator cuff I had recently made usable again after two months of putting it through physical therapy.
I appear to be fine. But I think I might have broken or bruised a rib or two. It hurts like hell, and I can’t sleep on that side. I can breathe, so I doubt I punctured a lung. Fortunately, my surgery innards don’t feel newer and different-er pain than before I fell– just their usual tugs and pulls o’ healing. I’ve scheduled a doctor appointment for Friday, and I’m also not afraid of emergency rooms, if I should need to visit one. (Next week I’ll be a traveler, so I gotta be fine for that.)
Skitter eventually got pottied, and she had not made a puddle in her crate while we were off living it up in Park City. Score!
Earlier this week I showed you a photo of Suzanne’s scuffed face, and explained about her klutzosity. She is still the klutz in the family, by far. I have no idea why I’ve started joining in the klutz games with her though. I admire so many of Suzanne’s finer qualities, and I try to emulate them. I am not happy about emulating her klutz quality.
All I know for sure is that if I hadn’t taken off my wintry cape in the garage the minute I got home from Park City Saturday night, my attached cape would have thrown me into superhero mode as I tripped, and I would have been able to fly downstairs instead of fall splat. Perhaps I should wear a cape 24/7 from now on, to thwart any possible klutzing activities I might find myself getting into. Oh, you know how I’d hate always wearing a cape.