I’m injured, not dying. Now leave me alone.

29 July 2006 4 Comments

My arm is in a sling. I’m not thrilled about it, but I had to stop myself from doing stupid things like picking up a full bucket of water with my injured arm. You’d think the pain from the pulled muscles would stop me from doing that, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from years of chronic back pain, it’s how to ignore pain when it stops me from doing something I’d really like to do, actually, and thank you very much.

I never said it was a smart attitude to take towards pain.

So. Sling. It means there’s a ninety percent chance that when I go to lift up that water bucket with my injured arm I’ll remember in time that I really shouldn’t do that. And the other ten percent of the time I just spill the water all over myself anyway, so no harm done.

It also means that every random stranger I meet thinks they are clever when they say “Are you a righty or a lefty?” Oh ho ho. So funny. I never would have thought that a) I was really lucky I injured my “off” shoulder or b) I was horribly unlucky for injuring my writing arm (whichever the case might be), but now that you pointed it out, that’s the most amazing thing I’ve thought of all day! Excuse me while I get a chair and a cup of tea and some biscuits and sit down here in the middle of the parking lot to contemplate my luck (or lack thereof).

I don’t understand why people care. I mean, it’s not like they are going to help me get groceries or anything. They just… feel the need to comment on my “condition.” I feel like pregnant women must when people stop them in the street and try to rub their bellies. People, bugger off. No one asked you to touch the pregnant ladies. For that matter, Blue Haired Lady In The Grocery Store, no one asked you to poke my arm and ask if it hurts, either.

Do people think I don’t realize my arm is in a sling? Do I radiate vibes that tell everyone else I need to be reminded that I’ve done something, probably something stupid and embarrassing, to injure myself? Is my bad luck somehow communal property and I just didn’t get the memo?

I mean, why do people stop someone who is visibly injured and probably in pain to annoy the crap out of them? I don’t care about your Uncle Joe who broke his pinky toe and how it was so much worse for him than me. Or about the time you almost broke your wrist but it was just a sprain and they gave you X prescription drug for it and I should really try that because it was great. I have tried X prescription drug, and Y, and Z, and a few you’ve never heard of, and in at least one case my doctor was forced to write a formal letter to the drug company stating I’d had an adverse side effect that wasn’t on The List.

You know The List. It’s the list of side effects that you read and then go “Who in the world turns blue with purple spots from taking Really Common Over the Counter Medication?” That would be me.

I realize that you can’t tell just by looking at me that prescription drugs and I get along like a house on fire, but I think we can all assume that my doctor and I have my drug regimen under control and I probably don’t need the advice of Average Jane on the Street, especially if Average Jane on the Street is walking out of the grocery store carrying a case of Orange Soda. Who drinks Orange Soda, anyway?

Inane and Mundane

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