On an episode of The Brady Bunch, Carol Brady was lecturing her kids not to play ball in the house. But, when she left (to do what, I'm not exactly sure) the boys started tossing a basketball in the house. Result? A broken, cherished vase that they tried valiantly to fix.
In another episode, the boys were tossing a football, having fun in the backyard. But when Marsha walked through the back door, the football nailed her in the nose. I think all the neighbors in 1960s Suburbanville heard her cries of 'My nose! My nose!' Thanks to Marsha, the boys had to quit their game and got a stern lecture from Mom and Pop Brady.
Those are really the only two episodes I remember, but their message was clear..."It's all fun and games until someone f's up". All we are left with is a broken vase and a broken nose.
This week I was enduring a typical Monday at work when the Brady message became relevant to my life. Walking down a set of concrete stairs, I slipped on some slush and tried to grab myself to prevent my fall. Unfortunately, my almost healed broken shoulder couldn't withstand my weight, so I let go of the railing and fell right on my tailbone.
It really is a pain in the ass - for more than one reason.
No, I wasn't playing basketball or tossing a football during my trek down the stairs. But, I must have been preoccupied, not thinking that a girl who doesn't wear high heels and is very aware of accidents involving tripping, would find the one slick spot on the stairs.
At first I tried to ignore the fact that there were shooting pains up my butt. I chalked the soreness in my shoulder to my previous injury (remember the infamous tripping over the dog in November?). But, a couple of days ago, I couldn't take the pain anymore. I had to suck it up and come to terms with the fact that I may have broken my ass.
I went to Occupational Health Services where I was checked out by possibly the rudest medical staff in existence. They informed me that I have a hairline fracture on my buttbone and I rebroke a bone in my shoulder. Awesome!
The next step was to get me in to a doctor to begin my treatment - provided they take Workman's Comp claims. Two days later, I have yet to hear from the doctors. I called my Orthopedic's office, they have no record of the claim. I called Occupational Health Services, they say they sent my records forward.
Then I get a call from someone in Texas that had to take my statement in order for Workman's Comp to approve or disapprove my claim. Dragging out my humiliation, I recalled in detail how I fell. Verified (again) that I am not too graceful. Even went so far to defend myself stating that I never wear heels and the shoes I wore that day could have been straight out of Orthopedic Shoe Digest.
And now I wait. I wait for some doctor, somewhere to look at my ass. Until that happens, I am instructed not to drive or ride in a car. All fine and dandy if I was a hermit or suffered from agoraphobia (fear of open spaces).
But I am not a hermit. I like to go outside. But, even if I stayed inside, we still have stairs in the house. Perhaps I should put a sign up, "Watch Your Step". And I will. I will watch them go by as I fall to the bottom.
This whole thing has been a painful experience...a real pain in the ass!
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