Now with bonus crutches

In what is a sure sign from the universe that I have to slow down and stop taking so much on, I have hurt my leg and have been on crutches since Tuesday night. Woe is me. In lieu of flowers, please send chocolate.

But the way in which I have injured myself is so fucking unlikely for me. It might be normal for other people, but having my name and this injury in a sentence will make some people do a double take.

Instead of coming straight out and telling you what I did, I've come up with a list of things MORE LIKELY to see me on crutches than the actual event that caused my hop-a-long status:

1. Getting my big toe caught in my pants leg as I walk. No, really. It is ridiculous how often I do this; I fall, my life flashes before my eyes (kinda boring on reflection), and I somehow unhook the offending piggy and stop myself faceplanting... well I have so far.
   
2. Slipping on a puddle of my own drool as I stare through the glass at the local bakery. I need to carry one of those 'Slippery When Wet' cleaning signs with me whenever I go past.
   
3. Getting run over by my own car. Oh wait I already did that! But it still makes the list, because it happening again is still more likely.
   
4. Sliding down a hill. This was most recently attempted in February and I'll be honest, there were a few close calls. But who doesn't see a grassy slope and a sheet of cardboard and immediately think SLIDE TIME?! The kids had no idea what I was doing at first, but I led by example and hurtled myself down that hill and then gave them a turn. Because safety schmafety. It was disappointing to look up and see everyone else actively discouraging their kids from joining in our fun... keeping a huge part of their culture from them. I mean, skin on knees is important BUT AT WHAT COST? 

No one would blink an eye if I turned up on crutches and said "I got run over in my own driveway again" but when I drop the bombshell that I have a genuine, bone fide, 100% legitimate SPORTS INJURY from doing REAL SPORT it is shocking.

If my highschool had a "Most likely to never ever be injured playing sport" vote, I would have won it right after I won the "Most likely to never ever play a sport or do any physical activity" vote.

But then the whole martial arts things came along and I got bitten by the bug and I'm all sporty and shit now, complete with motherfucking TORN MUSCLES AND TENDONS.

Yep, landing after a switch push kick (a super simple kick that I did properly) my calf decided that the half hour of warm up and activity was not enough and riiiiiiiiip. I looked up at my sparring partner and said "I think I just hurt my leg?". The questioning was because it didn't hurt, but I had felt a ripping sensation that I had never ever felt before (and never ever want to feel again!). I went to walk off the mats and found I couldn't. Ah fuck.

I hobbled off, being held up by two people, and my leg was elevated and iced within a minute or two. It didn't hurt, but it felt really strange. 

My instructor said that if I'd torn it, it would probably start hurting real soon. He went back to the class after making sure I was OK and then the pain started to hit. I came soooo close to crying, partly from pain and partly from how bloody disappointed I felt to be out with an injury when I was really getting in to my training.

At the end of class I tried to stand up to hobble to the car, but it wasn't happening. I couldn't put any weight on my left leg at all and had to be carried, piggy back style, to the car that MG had brought down as close as possible to the door (we train together - nawww). 

I've kept the standard RICE routine going and been for an ultrasound that shows two tears in my gastrocnemius muscle and one tear in my plantaris tendon. They were thinking it was a grade three tear, but now it looks like three grade two tears instead. 

It had stopped hurting on rest and would only hurt if I moved my leg or put my weight down on it, but now, in a somewhat backward step, it has started throbbing all the time. Add sore arms and hands from crutches, my period, and the fact that I cannot unpack the new house or clean the old house, I'm really not a happy chappy right now. 

I start physio in the next week, because if anyone touches me now I will swat them with my crutches. I want to get back to martial arts as quick as I can, because I'm really loving it, and also because I don't want MG to get too many ranks ahead of me.

Priorities, people, priorities. 

Pointing the Bloody Finger

Five little ducks went out one day,
In to the bottom kitchen drawer to play,
Mother Duck said "Quack quack quack" (which loosely translated means "watch your fingers")
And only four little ducks came back...

Yesterday morning, as I was getting Tricky's breakfast ready, he was playing with the bottom kitchen drawer about half a step away from me.

It's his drawer. Only his stuff goes in there and he's allowed to play with it. He'll sometimes touch the other drawers but after being told "no" he'll generally leave it alone, and go back to his drawer.

Yesterday was no different. Except as he went to close the drawer, he slipped and fell over.

Didn't make a sound. So I said "Oops, you fell over! Up you get, time for breakfast"

Then he started screaming.

I figured he must have bopped his head as he fell and was doing one of those delayed reaction cries. You know the ones where it's been a good five seconds since they've injured themselves and you can see the little cogs in their head turning. Does this hurt? Should I cry? Yeah I will. Waah! So I scooped him up for a cuddle and saw a little bit of blood on the floor.

I checked his mouth. He's put his tooth through his lip or gum before after a fall, but there didn't seem to be anything there. I looked down at his hand...

Blood everywhere.

I could see it was coming from his finger, but there was just so much blood I couldn't see how bad it was.

"Oh fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck have you cut your finger off?" Because dropping the F bomb to a one year old is fine in these situations.

I'm not entirely sure why I asked him. I didn't exactly expect him to look up and answer me.

I tried to blot away the blood with a tissue but it wasn't doing any good so I ran his finger under the tap. He went quiet. I think he liked the cold. I could see through the water that a big chunk of skin was missing.

After quickly getting dressed while my Mum (who was almost at my house already when it happened) held him, we jumped in the car and raced to the doctors.

We asked if we could see the nurse.

"You can't see the nurse without seeing the doctor"

We asked if we could see a doctor.

"Do you have an appointment? They're fully booked."

Are you fucking kidding me? Do you think I have an appointment? Meanwhile my child's hand is dripping with blood.

But I kept it all inside and instead said "No, I don't, he's just cut his finger a few minutes ago"

"Well he doesn't look too distressed"

What?! Can we focus for a second on the blood pouring out his frickin finger? Maybe he was in shock, I dunno, I'm not a medico and neither was she. Being a receptionist at a medical centre doesn't actually qualify you to triage.

So we waited almost an hour to see the doctor. My Mum and I took turns holding him, and holding his hand up and his thumb away. He wanted to touch his finger and each time he did it, it would pour with blood. We could see it wasn't a bad injury by now, but like all finger wounds, it would not. stop. bleeding.

I was anxious that the doctor would tell me off. Tell me I should have been supervising him more carefully, that I shouldn't let him play with the drawer. But instead, he introduced himself to me, asked what had happened then told me how his own son, at age 23, has just run his car up the back of a Mercedes, assuring me that "it doesn't stop as they get older, you'll have to get used to this".

The doctor put on those big magnifying goggles and had a look. The giant flap of skin was still partially attached so he unrolled it (ick), smoothed it down, and put a bandage on it.

All the while Tricky just sat there, hand outstretched, staring at the doctor. No screaming, even when he was unrolling the skin. Then when it was time to go he turned around and waved to the doctor. He bloody waved! The child is a champion.

Be sure to send in my Mother of the Year nomination, won't you?

Look I haz bandage!

Hrmm, tastes funny

I feel better now, Mama

It got caught in Frederick's teeth