anywhereisbetter

So the category is called “Accidents Waiting to Happen.” It seems this one just couldn’t wait any longer.

It’s been so long since I’ve had the misfortune of injuring myself that I think I’d forgotten what it was like. Happily, on Monday, fate decided that it was time for a little reminder.

The story isn’t very interesting, so I’ll give you the short version. Chad sit down on step. Chad stand up on step. Chad step down from step. Chad’s ankle crumples like a beer can on a frat boy’s forehead–sound effects and all.

I didn’t want to seem like some kind of sissy that runs to the hospital with a silly little sprained ankle, so I smartly hobbled off to class in spite of my excruciating pain. For one hour and fifteen minutes, I endured class with the help of some self-styled Lamaze breathing, completely unable to pay attention to a word the professor said. Unwilling to take this as a sign that maybe I should go to the doctor, I proceeded in manlike fashion to work. As I propped up my leg to examine the obvious swelling that had already begun, my boss demanded that I go get it checked out.

The lowdown: One little step, three torn and/or badly stretched ligaments. 4-6 weeks of downtime. Four to six weeks.

I’ve had my fair share of stupid injuries in my day: a broken arm from falling off a seesaw, a fractured wrist skateboarding, a broken knee skateboarding, more than one broken nose, and several broken fingers and toes. Oh, and one tooth. Forgot about that.

In this long list of minor calamities, none were incurred in so banal a fashion. One minute, I’m sitting down, enjoying the springtime weather, and the next, I’m bent over in pain, wondering if I can even stand up. It could happen to you. My advice is to never ever ever take stairs. Never.

Anyone that has incurred such an injury in New York City knows that this is not the place to incur such an injury. My five minute walk to the train station has suddenly become a fifteen minute endurance challenge. Getting down the steps at the train station without losing my balance and breaking the rest of my bones requires the utmost skill and patience. The out-of-order elevator in one of the buildings at school, nonfunctional for several weeks as a result of a labor dispute at the repair company, has made me rethink my position on organized labor. Okay, it hasn’t, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t curse the union just a little on my way up those stairs.

After yesterday’s experience, I didn’t even bother trying to get around today. Instead, I turned on the TV and watched UHF. God bless cable. Now, as I sit here with my leg propped up, ice pack in place, I’ve been treated to a VH1 Classic set of Black Flag, the Ramones, and Jane’s Addiction. But that was earlier; at present the selections are less consistent. By “less consistent,” I mean two hours of .38 Special, Journey, and King’s X. This might hurt worse than the ankle.