Yesterday I fell. And I hurt my knee. But I didn't just fall...oh no. Just tripping and falling is almost never how things happen for me. Case in point...a few months ago, the baby boy decided that going to the toilet was overrated and pooped in his underwear. The child then proceeded to sit and smoosh the poo so that it oozed down his leg...and wanted to whine about it. I had no clue this is what he did when I heard him whining. I just thought he had gotten something on his leg or his leg was hurting. I touched him to check him. My hand landed in the poo. The look of anger made him cringe and start crying.
Ladies and gentlemen...I believe in capitol punshiment and he knew he had one coming.
So I'm pissed to the highest level of piss-tivity. I just stuck my hands in poo and when we get upstairs there are still chunks in his drawers! I take the clothing into the basement to rinse them out. Lo and behold, on my angry way back up the stairs, I trip. But I don't just trip...I bang my leg on the edge of the tiled steps and slide back down the tiled steps, scraping off about 18 inches of skin in the process on the tiled steps.
So I didn't just fall yesterday. I was trying to have a joyous experience of walking the boy to school. I have the baby on my back and we're racing up the street. And the boy is in front, little legs pumping hard because he is winning. It's all fun and games until I get close to him. And then he just suddenly stops....and puts his hands out. I have too much forward momentum going with the little one on my back to stop or really maneuver around him. We collide and I try and turn my body so that I don't fall on him. And I land, knee first, on the curb, right in the middle of Wilkens Ave, during morning rush hour traffic.
We all know the first thing that came to mind, "Did anybody see me just fall like that?" And then the blinding pain as I feel the baby sliding down my body and landing with a gentle plop on his butt. And then he gets angry because his mommy is writhing on the ground in pain...not knowing whether the hand scraps or the knee hurts more. And he squares his little shoulders and charges at his brother ready to kick his ass. The boy is profusely apologizing and I'm hurt...making ouch noises like a sissy.
I get myself up and get the boy dropped off to school. The little one and I walk back home and I feel fine by the time we make it back. I go through my day, class and everything, and I forget all about my knee being hurt. What I do remember is the embarrassment of the fall.
And then I go to work. The good old Night Shift. The moment I start racing around the unit trying to get things accomplished, I feel it start to happen. My leg feels tight. I see it getting puffy. By 10pm it's full on swollen and I'm limping. But I didn't ask to go home. The thought didn't cross my mind. I still did my thing, pulling and turning people up in bed, running...or rather limping...to get supplies, helping clean up backside blowouts. Even willing to step in and do compressions during a code. I'm supposed to be sitting in between, icing my knee but guess what...I ain't no cream puff.
So we'll see what happens over the next few days. There will be ice and NSAIDS in my future. I plan to go to work tonight. I plan to do pilates and dance on Monday. We're learning Thriller for crying in the mud! This delayed reaction isn't going to stop me from making my money or enjoying my few pleasures in life. I ain't no cream puff.