What we do out of guilt

Random memory time!!

I was…. 11, maybe 12?

I had been running up the stairs, fell, and smacked my shin against the hard wood stairs. We gave it a couple of days to heal, and as the pain and my ability to walk got worse, my parents decided to take me to the emergency room.

The only thing I knew at that point was that going to the ER was a big deal. In all of my very well earned, 11-year-old wisdom, I went downstairs while my mom was getting dressed and my dad was in the shower. I propped my leg up on the deep freezer we had in the kitchen, stifling my pain. I then proceeded to beat the crap out of my injured leg with my fist. I had to make sure that this was worthy of an ER visit.

I wound up being diagnosed with a hematoma (fancy name for a bruise, though they vary in severity), was on crutches for six weeks, and still have an indentation in my shin bone, which I am quite sure was not caused by my fist0.

So yeah, there’s that.