broken owie

My olacrenon process is on fire. This statement is more figurative than literal.

Yesterday was so special that I'm pretty sure I have broken a bone to show for it. After lunch I was working like a little Trojan when out of nowhere I went to do deaccess a port and whacked my dear elbow against the corner of a side table.

Now before you say that hitting your funny bone isn't funny, let me tell you this had nothing to do with my funny bone. Funny bone injuries shoot a shocky-pain down your hand. This made my whole arm go numb and did not once give me the urge to laugh. Instead I went to the pharmacy and said some very ugly words and tried not to cry or throw up.

And did I mention that it was such a talented whack that it bled? I proudly wore a purple bandaid for the rest of the day. I was for sure that it would feel better today, despite that I had a hard time finding a comfortable spot to sleep last night that wouldn't mash it.

But it doesn't feel better. Although the throbby pain has slightly subsided, it still hurts like a mug. When I press on it the dull ache returns, and I don't like it one bit.

It's broken, at least fractured. I'm sure of it. But I'm not going to go to the ER -- because they'd make funny bone jokes and tell me I should take better care of my olacrenon process. And then they'd say I should just quit whacking it on side tables and there wouldn't be any problem.

And I can tell all that stuff to myself for a fraction of the price.

So today I lump it. I put some triple antibiotic ointment on the mini-gash, and I think I'll wear a bandaid today for moral support.

Today's lesson? Be more graceful than me. And the next time someone shows you their owie, don't poke at it and ask if it sill hurts. That's just mean.