The other day I told you that I've sustained an injury that makes it difficult to sit for long periods of time. That's pretty much a nicer way of saying I fell down the stairs and may have broken my tailbone. Yep, I may have a broken butt.
The morning of Wayne's cancer check up (over two weeks ago on a Monday) I put Lola in her kennel and headed downstairs.
Our house was built in the 1960's, when apparently everyone had smaller feet, because our steps are very narrow. So when my ginormous feet landed wrong on the stairs, they basically acted as skis and I just slid all the way to the bottom before landing directly on my butt.
Unfortunately, Wayne and our friend Jackie were downstairs and watched the whole thing. Through laughter they asked if I was okay. If my slippers hadn't flown 15 feet in the air, I would have thrown them at their heads. The first thing I said was "I'm fine, I have plenty of padding." Um, I was wrong.
It was sore all that week, but mostly when I sat down just right. But by last Wednesday, I was convinced I had broken my butt. The pain was so much worse, it hurt all the time and I could not sit at all without pain. I went to the Chiropractor on Friday, she adjusted me and told me to take it easy until I go back to her tomorrow. I've basically spent all week lying on my side on the sofa.
You know when you have abdominal surgery and you can't believe how your stomach muscles control everything you do. Well, everything hurts. Everything. My primary goal every day is to avoid sneezing. The other day I sneezed three times in a row and I literally thought I was going to die.
Laughing hurts. The following conversation had me laughing so hard, I was crying from the pain.
Wayne: You need to just get X-Rays to see if it's broken.
Me: It won't change the treatment, there's not a sling in the world big enough for my ass.
Wayne: But at least they'll give you some pain pills.
Me: Yeah, but I probably won't take them.
Wayne: They're not for you, the whining is killing me.
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