Forty-four and a half years old. Never broken a bone, never
fainted.
Why I could not continue on with this happy trend, God will
tell me one day.
Last Wednesday morning, I slipped on a stupid rock and broke
my arm. Not in an easily fixed way, oh, no, not me. I will be having nails and
screws put in my bones. Yes, that’s right: surgery.
Blah.
I fainted twice during the event, when I first fell (I do
not remember the actual impact on my arm, but B says I lay still and quiet for
a few seconds before I started screaming), and then when J was trying to help
me up so that he could drive us to the clinic.
That time, I knew I was going to faint. Announced my
intention to J. The next thing I knew, I was back on the ground with my foot
sticking into…well, an uncomfortable place.
And my arm still throbbed with a searing pain, bone popping
and shifting with every move I made.
So if I get a little quiet on the blog, you have an idea
why. Typing with one hand is rather cumbersome.
But don’t be surprised if, in one of my upcoming novels, I
have a character slip on a rock and break her arm.
