Although my mom will never admit it, I’m pretty sure my existence started as an accident. This awkward fact has set the tone for the rest of my life as I am the dictionary definition of accident-prone. I honestly wonder how I’m still alive after 31 years of hurting myself in the dumbest ways.
Case in point, I am currently typing this post by pecking the the keyboard with my right hand while elevating and icing my left hand. Wondering what’s wrong with my hand? I broke some blood vessels in my middle finger while engaging in the dangerous activity of WASHING DISHES. Now it’s swollen, throbbing, and a beautiful shade of blue. Hopefully, I can keep it under control and avoid going to the hospital to get it drained.
This hilariously lame injury has inspired me to share a few of the dumb shit that has sent me to the ER over the years.
One of my earliest and most severe accidents occurred when I was only a few years old. I broke my leg when the rug I was dancing on slipped from under my feet. According to my mom, the doctor at Detroit Children’s Hospital pulled her aside to ask if my dad hurt me because I managed to break my leg in a way that’s usually caused by child abuse. After she explained that I did it all on my own, I was wrapped up in a full-leg cast and sent home. These days, I turn into Debbie Downer and tell this story to my friends whenever I see their child dancing on a rug.
More recently, I fell down the stairs outside my apartment while carrying a box of garbage to the dumpster. I thought I reached the bottom step, but I was mistaken. I twisted my ankle, heard a loud pop, fell back, and the box of trash landed on me. No one was around to help me so I had to hobble to the dumpster and back up the stairs to my apartment. Fortunately, it was only a sprain but I had to take a six week break from running and couldn’t race the Big Sur Half Marathon that year. Shortly after my ankle healed, I sprained it again while crossing the street with the dog…
Then there was the bread knife incident… I was slicing a bagel with the awesome Shun bread knife I just received as a gift from my boyfriend. Like a moron, I was cutting toward my hand and sliced my palm. I’ve cut myself many times in the past without needing stitches but this was my first incident with a serrated knife. 30 minutes of pressure and elevation didn’t slow the bleeding so I relented and sought medical attention. My hand needed four stitches and six weeks to heal.
I also had the great fortune of getting a staph infection in my toe during a half ironman. I’m not sure how I caught it, but I do know that it was incredibly painful.
I’ve had so many dumb injuries in my life, I almost signed up for a twitter account last week for this:
Are you accident-prone?
What’s your dumbest injury?
*** UPDATE ***
My finger doesn’t look pretty today but the swelling is under control. No ER trip this time!