I am wondering at this point what lesson it is the universe is trying to hammer into my head.
After my diagnosis (see my previous post), I thought that with time and chemistry, things would start to improve. My gut would take a while to settle down, sure. That’s to be expected. No problem, I can go about my business.
This has been an unseasonable warm winter where I live. I like that, since cold is not my friend. There is very little snow, and even the nights have generally been above freezing. That did not apply, however, to New Years night, when the temps dipped into the 20s, with an accompanying wind.
Since I am usually the first one up and about, I was planning to get the trash out to the bin, but I am not currently in a position to lift the double-wide garage door by myself. My esteemed spouse informed me that he had put the whole mess out the night before (he gets a point!), but that the wind may have knocked it over. I peeked out, and, sure enough, the bin had tipped.
I must point out that I am a capable, tool-using primate, and generally moderately adept at locomotion. I’ve been doing it a long time, after all. I thought, “Pshaw! I can go set that sucker up. No problem.” I did not bother to dress, since hardly anyone would be out and about to see me in my voluminous terrycloth bathrobe. No harm, no foul. Don’t like it? Don’t look.
There was just enough of a scrim of ice on the driveway to send my lower leg shooting off to the side. I heard a pop, then a high, screechy keening sound, which turned out to be me. I rolled and writhed, rolled and writhed, all the while alternating between yelling for help and yelling obscenities.
Oh, and my ass was waving in the breeze, as well.
Normally, I would credit my workouts on the thigh machine for saving me from an injury, but this time, it think they did more harm than good. I can clamp those puppies really hard. Too bad my medial collateral ligament is less strong than my quads, apparently. My ACL tore, too. Icing (pardon the pun) on the cake.
At any rate, the nice garbage collector who finally stopped was able to summon the family and, with help, I was able to go inside.
I am sure that nice (and hottish) young man had no idea that the last shred of dignity I possessed ended up in the dumper that day. He did a kind thing helping out, and I sent a letter to his company thanking him for his actions.
The dignity, though? Gone, baby, gone. I likely didn’t need it, anyway.