You know, there’s that saying “sticks and stones won’t break my bones…but…falling down the stairs…???”
Saturday morning, I was mopping and then I slipped… And fell down the stairs.
At first I felt nothing, but I realised I couldn’t raise myself, then I realized Oh, it was my left hand. Bee wasn’t home, so I had to rely on my very inefficient sisters who have next to nil idea on first aid, do not know how to drive and were more interested in crying.
Eventually we got to the hospital and the doc said it’s not actually broken, it’s fractured. They got a masseur to massage the hand, I don’t even know if it’s legal – I saw stars, I saw a reaper beckoning on me, I was so sure it was my end. Finally, it was all over and they bandaged the hand after lacing me with pain killers so I won’t sue them for torture and attempted murder.
My left hand is currently swollen the size of a heavily pregnant woman’s feet.
The bright side is I don’t do anything! No chores, plenty food and plenty attention.
The not so bright side is I can’t do anything!
- I can’t type properly
- I can’t use the bathroom on my own
- Sleeping is veeeery uncomfortable and no more cuddling
- I miss cooking
- I have to rely on someone to help me with everything including wearing clothes.
- It’s just blinding pain each time I mistakenly move my left hand
- There’s the thousands of pills I have to take. I have a phobia for taking pills.
- I’ve not rubbed cream on my skin for over 48 hours now
A couple of friends came to see me and all they talked about was the time someone broke this and another person broke that. I never knew every single one of my friends have broken a bone at least once in their life, it’s amazing.
So far, I was determined to resume blogging today, and not even a fractured bone would stop me. 😀😀😀
P. S. This post was typed by Bee. All grammatical and/or spelling errors are solely his.