The Omnibus

Issue date: 11/4/04 Section: Humor

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Virtually all of us have broken a bone, sprained a joint, had surgery or we know someone who has. With that beautiful statement of the obvious out of the way, I can delve into my topic: injuries. I am against them. I think there should be a law against them because they have a habit of being detrimental to a person's health. Unfortunately, if they passed a law against getting hurt, it would just become more expensive and people would be going into deserted parking lots late at night just to get hurt. Injuring oneself, however, is like an experimental drug because it can produce nasty side effects like crutches, pain and miniature scooter carts.

This subject arose when I managed to aggravate an old knee sprain on the Thursday before Halloween. For the first two days, I was blessed to be obliged to use crutches. I say blessed because we should thank the Lord in all things, but God took the initiative in this particular blessing because I remember specifically not praying for it.

I am thankful that Nurse Nancy had crutches to lend me, especially considering the alternative of being forced to ride piggy-back on my unsuspecting friends. I find it difficult, however, to be thankful for the injury itself. I wish I could say it taught me patience, but I have been waiting forever to learn patience - and it is still not coming. What I did learn was to remember to be grateful for the rest of the body parts that are, more or less, in working order. Gratefulness is not as funny as my complaints, however, and since I need all the help I can get, we shall skip to the part where I whine a lot.

One might think that the worst part of being injured is the pain. While that may be true in extreme and / or serious cases, the less painful minor injuries give way to the major irritations they entail. According to my mother, I am a big girl whether I like it or not; so I can only complain about the pain if the body part in question is dangling, on fire or unaided by ibuprofen.

No, the worst part about minor injuries is how they make everything twice as complicated as they were before. Walking, for instance, becomes more of a gymnastic feat when previously unused upper body muscles suddenly find themselves on the parallel bars that are crutches. The gymnastics become hopscotch, however, if one forgets and neglects to pick up one's sister's clothes off the floor. Okay, maybe they were not all her clothes, but I still say crutches are a pain. The up side is that my sister had the privilege of taking my laundry downstairs and doing most of it. She grumbled under her breath for much of it, so I think she was probably being thankful in all circumstances, just like I was.

My least favorite part of the whole experience was the trip to Wal-Mart. I went with a friend relatively late at night, and by that time I was thoroughly tired of those stupid crutches, so I let her talk me into using the little scooter and basket combo things they have for older people. On that trip I lost 24 inches, not in pounds, which would have been nice, but in height. The scooter was so short that my legs barely fit, and I had to have my friend's help to reach the orange juice, sun chips and credit card pad at which point I was so tired of maneuvering the silly thing that I stood up and virtually hopped on one leg through the checkout aisle. Let us all pause and reflect on that mental image.

Sarah Mann is the humor columnist for the Omnibus and can be reached at FraggleSarah@hotmail.com for sympathy cards on the passing of her dignity.

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