Chapter 1: My Exploded Elbow
Somewhere in my Wonder Woman moving adventures I must have bashed my elbow. In fact, I've been a complete klutz lately, and am fairly well-covered with bruises, mainly, I believe, from bumping into furniture that's in unfamiliar places. I've managed to fall and land hard on the same knee no less than threee times in the last month: one running-for-a-bus-incident, one free-tequila-shots incident, and again last week when Spider got her revenge for the washing machine thing by dropping a greasy roasted chicken carcass on the tile floor and I slipped on the grease.
The knee has turned colors I didn't even know I had, and there's an unfamiliar bump on there. The last time I fell on it, I almost cried and I almost puked it hurt so much.
Anyway.
The elbow, which I don't remember bashing, just hurt for awhile but then it started to swell and it got all red and hot. The doctor at the school clinic got mad at me for not coming in sooner, just like he did when I'd had diarrhea for two weeks. Both times I was like, "Dude, I'm American and I'm used to not having health insurance. We don't mess with doctors for ridiculous hypochondriac issues like the shits and swollen, burning elbows."
So the elbow got a little bit better, but clearly there is something exploded and squishy in there. It's annoying the hell out of me because that's the elbow I lean on. So I checked with Doctor Google and decided I should go see a real doctor.
Look, I'm calling it my exploded elbow to make it sound cool. The fact is, it's bursitis, which sounds to me like something only old people should have and I'm not dealing well with having it.
Fuck.
Anyway, the doctor gave me a super-cool bandage and an explanation that bursitis is because of an inflamed bursa. Which helps a little bit, thinking of an inflamed Bursa in my elbow, even though I'm pretty sure that shit is exploded. Or maybe I just really, really want to believe that, because bursitis sounds, well, fucking lame.
Chapter 2: Vehicular Safety
LE and I took the minibus home from the hospital. There weren't any seats and even though he still has a hard time standing up and remembering to hold on to something on the minibus, his two months of perpetual growth-spurts have made him tall enough no one gives us a seat anymore unless he actually falls down. Occasionally a kind stranger offers him a lap, and he's gotten where he's cool with accpeting that.
In cars, I'm pretty fanatic about attempting to encourage some sort of vehicular safety. I'm American. I can't help it. If there's no booster for him, he at least has to wear a lapbelt. If the seatbelts are cut off or otherwise not funtioning, like in taxis or his dad's new car, he at least has to be reminded a million times to sit back on the seat and not climb around or stand in the middle hanging between the two front seats.
The minibus, well, it's a fucking joke and it occurred to me today how little I care. In summer, the best seat is in the front passenger seat next to the driver with the window open. Ample room for our stuff, and a clear path to the windshield.
But today, clearly the best place was on the cushion on the floor in front of the money box. I'm surprised no one else had snagged it.
It was super-safe because the cushion wasn't secured to anything, which meant I could move it closer to the bar so LE could hold on and not get thrown on fast turns, or end up under the driver's gear-shifting arm as we barreled downhill.
Whatever. It's all relative, even safety.
 |
| Waited for her chance. |
Somewhere in my Wonder Woman moving adventures I must have bashed my elbow. In fact, I've been a complete klutz lately, and am fairly well-covered with bruises, mainly, I believe, from bumping into furniture that's in unfamiliar places. I've managed to fall and land hard on the same knee no less than threee times in the last month: one running-for-a-bus-incident, one free-tequila-shots incident, and again last week when Spider got her revenge for the washing machine thing by dropping a greasy roasted chicken carcass on the tile floor and I slipped on the grease.
The knee has turned colors I didn't even know I had, and there's an unfamiliar bump on there. The last time I fell on it, I almost cried and I almost puked it hurt so much.
Anyway.
 |
| Fuck yeah! Who needs goddamned medical care? |
So the elbow got a little bit better, but clearly there is something exploded and squishy in there. It's annoying the hell out of me because that's the elbow I lean on. So I checked with Doctor Google and decided I should go see a real doctor.
Look, I'm calling it my exploded elbow to make it sound cool. The fact is, it's bursitis, which sounds to me like something only old people should have and I'm not dealing well with having it.
Fuck.
 |
| My elbow is way less hairy, really. |
Chapter 2: Vehicular Safety
LE and I took the minibus home from the hospital. There weren't any seats and even though he still has a hard time standing up and remembering to hold on to something on the minibus, his two months of perpetual growth-spurts have made him tall enough no one gives us a seat anymore unless he actually falls down. Occasionally a kind stranger offers him a lap, and he's gotten where he's cool with accpeting that.
 |
| Just trust this guy with your life every day, okay? |
The minibus, well, it's a fucking joke and it occurred to me today how little I care. In summer, the best seat is in the front passenger seat next to the driver with the window open. Ample room for our stuff, and a clear path to the windshield.
But today, clearly the best place was on the cushion on the floor in front of the money box. I'm surprised no one else had snagged it.
It was super-safe because the cushion wasn't secured to anything, which meant I could move it closer to the bar so LE could hold on and not get thrown on fast turns, or end up under the driver's gear-shifting arm as we barreled downhill.
Whatever. It's all relative, even safety.
 |
| Truth be told, I've always thought safety is fucking boring anyway. |
2 comments:
Ouch to the elbow. I am so clumsy (particularly when stressed) I'm always covered in bruises. Walking into door frames and bashing my arms/shoulders is a favourite of mine. I have a lovely yellowy/bluey bruise on my forearm at the moment.
As for vehicular safety, well to be honest a lot of the time I just close my eyes and hope for the best. What else can you do in this country?
I am sure there is no need to worry, there was certain to be a nazar boncuk or several in the minibus;)
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