The Battle of Wounded Me

Posted on March 24, 2012by apronheadlilly

(Tonight's sunset: I may be injured, but not so much I can't hobble out and capture cool skies. It's like the Hubble Telescope, only with a Hobble.)

Consider:

1. A hiccup is as painful as a sneeze. Not that you could stop either even if you wanted to.

2. Right turns in the car are the worst, so have husband only turn left. It could be a long ride home.

3. Find out why time passes slowly when you hurt or are in the dentist’s chair, but quickly vanishes on vacation. Ask a scientist or a philosopher.

4. Dismiss any kid from class who has an injury worse than yours. It will diminish your sympathy quotient.

5. Find out why the meds given to help with pain inflict more pain in the way of migraines, not to mention acute liver failure or dementia probably sometime down the road. At least, I’ll know who to blame, if I can remember. Ask a friend. Do not ask a doctor.

5. Find out why when you go to the doctor because of an increase in pain, she hounds you about your LDL. As if I care when I’m dying. Do not ask a doctor. Ask a lawyer.

6. When you are already in a deep whine, do not share said whine with husband. He will try to cheer you up with jokes when all you need is a good cry. If you get the jokes, you will still get the cry because laughing hurts–almost as much as hiccupping and sneezing and burping and moving and living.

****************************************************************************************
The title is meant to be a clever allusion for humor’s sake and is not meant to disparage Amerindians or Kevin Costner’s role in Dances with Wolves, so leave me alone. Venting is a form of homeopathic health. At least, that is what I am telling myself. And don’t ask the husband. Ask me!

(This was taken this morning on the way to work--sacrificing for art y'all! Notice the cool circle rainbow.)

How to Survive Breaking a Rib

Posted on March 21, 2012by apronheadlilly

(Picture of neighbor's cute dog, which has absolutely nothing to do with this post. And I don't care; it's my blog!!)

Obviously, preventing the incident in the first place is optimum. But having done the stupid bike trick of falling into the gutter and fracturing a rib, the following are survival tips to make it through the six-week recovery process:

• Drugs. Legal, of course.
• Only breathe as much as is necessary for survival. When deep breathing is prescribed by the doctor for torture and to prevent pneumonia, grimace so everyone knows you are not faking injury. If required, produce copies of your x-rays for more sympathy.
• Learn to burp like a man. Good manners will hurt.
• Never lie down. Or if you are lying down, never get up. If you really need to change positions, moan and groan and puff so everybody in the house knows exactly what this trip to the bathroom is costing you.
• No coughing, sneezing or throat clearing. Drowning in your allergies is much preferred to the throbbing, excruciating, mind-numbing . . . well, you get the idea.
• Stand up straight and suck in your stomach or you will stay hunched that way forever. Or was that what Mom said about rolling my eyes? Sorry, I have a drug-induced “can’t remember.”
• Put off all chiropractor appointments for six months.
• Put off all mammogram appointments for six months—a year if you can talk your primary care provider into it!
• If husband insists on cracking jokes, give him his own cracked rib.
• Once you can move your arms, write about it. It is somewhat cathartic . . . somewhat.

Clarification: Hubby does tell jokes that hurt, but he redeems himself by bringing me meds, ice packs, warm woobies, praying for me, staying in Urgent Care 4 1/2 hours with me, and being very sypathetic! He’s a keeper!