I broke my wrist today after going arse-over-tit on the horrendous ice on my sidewalk, while applying ice-melt to the horrendous ice on my sidewalk. I went down, landed on my ass, which hurts a fair bit. Unfortunately I also landed on my wrist, which bent backwards in a way it was not designed to bend. It hurt so much that I damn near vomited. Instead, I dragged myself into my house and called the BBDD from my prone position on the couch, to tell him that my wrist was hurting like nothing I had ever experienced--and that I might vomit. So--Gram took me to the hospital where--after 4 hours--I was told that it was waaay broken. I guess 11 months of calcium-leaching prednisone will do that to the bones... Bah.
Anyhoo, I'm typing with 1 finger. Which means I started this post around 11am! ha ha. And my wrist is decidedly not feeling good. It's splinted till Monday, when I'll get a cast at the orthopedic surgeon's office. I was waiting to see him today when a rather gregarious joe sixpack started chatting with me. He was well-intentioned but totally out-there. He asked about the wrist, agreed that it was a tough break, then said, "But it could be worse!" I thought he was going to follow up with something like, "It's not your writing hand." Nope. He said, as he pulled a ratty sock off his hand, "It could look like this!," revealing the most disfigured and bloated fingers I've ever seen in my life. I flinched, it was so gross. Then he proceeded to ask me questions in a manner that implied that he knew all about me just by looking: "So. You arunner? I bet you're a former distance runner." Then, "Does your mom have osteoporosis? I'll bet she does, which is why your wrist broke." I felt kind of bad for him because it was clear that he derives no small amount of self-esteem from his "uncanny" ability to "know" things about strangers, so I didn't outright tell him he was full of bul..er, malarkey.
Anyhoo I'll attempt blogging again tomorrow. Hunt and peck!..peck!,,peck!