It was a bright sunny February post-birthday and also happy Friday to me! Us kids were having a swell time doing various kid things. Mostly dancing and playing dress up (they were, I liked my clothes) and begging for candy. I was fixing lunch and got a knock on the door to find a PRESENT for ME! Oooo! It really was my birthday week! I opened the box to find the most glorious surprise from that sneaky Goose! The very thing I am typing on at this moment. A CHROMEBOOK! If you don't know what it is, I suggest you do a google search and figure it out. Or here, I will help. Click here for Chromebook awesomeness. I will wait.
|Disclaimer: This is mine. You won't get THIS beautiful little thing, you'll be shipped another like it.|
So I was high on chocolate and Chrome giddiness while the kids slept. I was too excited for sleep, I had to play with my new toy! The real world called and I had laundry to check and a wood stove to make sure was still going strong. Later. Procrastination is my superpower I think. Eventually I peeled myself away from the awesomeness of 'the book', and just in time for the kids to arise and make some ridiculous claim that I starve them. Laundry averted! Success! Then I remembered the fire.
CRAP! THE FIRE PROBABLY WENT OUT! I HAVE TO CHECK! I made a beeline run from the living room after getting the tiny humans settled in with some Tinkerbell and noms so I could sneak away to do my 'housewife' duties. In a hurry, I turned the corner of my kitchen to run down the stairs as I do every day at least 15 times a day. This time was different.
The next 3 seconds felt like a short film. My shoe caught itself on the tile and stuck, but my body kept going. The next thing I knew, I was falling. The door opens out to the stairwell so the first 3-4 steps don't have anywhere for you to grab a hand rail. I blame shoddy construction work. So there I was falling forward and I knew I was going down. I hit the stairs hard on my right side and kept going. Instinctively I reached up for the handrail and blindly flailed for it until it reached out to me and found my hand. I grabbed hold of it for dear life and gripped it harder than I ever held. I mean, harder than holding onto some second to last Black Friday Item that a group of angry cougar-pack of ladies with teeth bared wanted. I could still feel myself sliding, but this time I had rolled onto my foot and was sliding down the stairs on my ankle. In this slow-mo version I was only about halfway down the stairs and I thought this tragedy was never going to end. I just.kept.going. However, I was still holding tight to that hand rail and then I thought of Twister. I thought, this is the strength they had to use to not get sucked up into the tornado while holding onto that pipe. Granted it wasn't windy and I certainly wasn't strapped down but I looked up that the basement ceiling and imagined a great tornado passing overhead, and then I finally stopped sliding down. Two steps from the bottom of the stairs. 12 stairs total took me for a ride of a lifetime. I was two steps away from splitting my head open on the concrete floor, all while sitting ON my ankle. O.o
I hadn't let go of the hand rail yet. I wasn't sure if I would fall off the side of the stairs into the canned goods shelf because, that would be my luck. It took me a solid 37.0865 seconds (yes I timed it *shifty eyes*) to stop shaking long enough to realize, I probably should check to see if anything is broken or missing. I straightened out and well, as you who have fallen down a flight of stairs would know, it hurt. I wasn't broken. I took the few painful steps to that stupid fire that in fact HADN'T gone out, and was just fine and could have waited til I was calmed down from my sugar/chrome high. I had left the tiny humans upstairs and had been away from them for at least an hour, they must be worried sick! Then I remembered it was only two minutes at least; they probably had not even heard the sound of 25 elephants parading in the stairwell.
I limped back over to the stairs, glared and said a few words to it and kicked the bottom step with my good foot as well as I could, though it didn't even do anything to me. It was still connected to the rest. Going up the stairs was a real joy let me tell you, cracking and aching through my whole self and gritted my teeth all the way up. When I got to the living room, those kids didn't.even.notice. What if I was broken? What if I had died? What if I had lost my voice during the fall and couldn't have called them to help me out. My phone hadn't been on me, I realized as clumsy as I am its only fitting that I order a life alert system. I mean, I am old and decrepit now. I DID just turn 31.
|I don't even OWN a shirt like that.|
I assessed my injuries. There was a pretty good cut/carpet burn next to my ankle where the stairs attacked my foot. I mean, I suppose for my brilliant attempt with the hand rail to save my brain from impact with the concrete, I should have gotten a counteraction and the ankle was it. It was already swollen twice the size and I was so angry that I wasn't going to be able to work out. My entire right leg and butt hurt, and I knew I would have a nice little bruise. Okay, maybe a really huge one. The little tiny humans saw me checking myself out and came to see what happened. Dr. P&P informed me that I needed a band-aid and I'd be okay. Oh, thanks. That helps so much!
I got ANOTHER present in the mail about this time, and its like the mailman KNEW I needed some more cheering up. It was my present from Dustbuster...my very own personalized cardinals jersey with MY number and name on it! wOOt! I just let David Freese borrow my number, because I am incredibly nice like that.
|No time for pain! Suck it up and smile for the camera!|
I told Goose, who was on his way home, about what had happened and he offered to cancel my birthday dinner and I said NO.I'M.GOING. Even if I had to go in a wheelchair, nothing was stopping me. Unless of course I was dead, but then again I was going to Matt's and I think even my dead self would rise like Lazarus to get my hands on some of that salad dressing. I decided tall boots were probably safe as no one would want to see my mangled up leg. For once in my life, I walked slower than Goose!
No sprained ankle, just a big old cut and bruises all over my whole leg. It's gnarly and I wish I had a better story about how those bruises got on my leg. Like, "I walked into a coven of wrestling leprechauns who thought I outed their secret fight club and they came after me with their wee little fists (using a trampoline to reach me of course, though I'm shorter than most people so their aim was a little high) and pounded on my thigh while they shanked me and sic'd their miniature unicorns to stab my foot and cut portions of my ankle off for secret laboratory research on how to dominate the human race. But don't worry, I had been working out with my boxing bag and, honestly flicking them off me and sending them flying into the next wall was pretty easy. And YES I did take their wee little pots of gold as payback for making my leg black and blue. Also they like to fight in basements under the stairs. Those little creaks you hear when going down the stairs? That's them running their underground fight club."
It's been almost a week and I STILL can't wear my tennis shoes or workout! Talk about being super annoyed. I CAN wear my comfy Victoria's Secret boots. Well okay, they are the ONLY shoes I can wear. That stupid laceration exposed all my nerves making my foot tingle weird next to my Achilles heel and....OHMYGOD I could have sliced open my Achilles on those stairs! Don't you people know this is the biggest irrational fear of mine? This is freaking me out! This is too much, I have to go lie down.