In Stitches

The question:

Given the high proportion of cobblestone and brick sidewalks, why is that Boston is so big on running?

The motive for the question:

Last Sunday, I was running and was swinging around the corner where Cambridge Street and Broadway meet. It's a brick sidewalk, and I had the thought I always have--"OK, it's treacherously uneven here, let's be careful."

SPLAT!

(And skid.)

The Rest of the Story:

A nice old man and a college kid helped me up. College Kid led me to the Harvard museum that's on that corner and directed me to the ladies' room inside to get cleaned up. The security lady gave me a band-aid.

As I was mopping myself up, I saw this weird white thing in my knee. "What is that?," I asked myself. "Oh, my patella," was the response. I panicked a little and then stuck the (insufficient) band-aid on. And then I walked towards the Cambridge Hospital, half in doubt whether I should go. (Oh, the expense!)

I eventually got there. My knee didn't hurt much--the scrapes from the skid hurt more. So, I sat on a bench in front of the hospital and pondered the sight of my kneecap until I was convinced I should go in.

The nurse stuck some blood-absorbing gauze on me, once I got seated on a gurney. And then some more gauze. And then some more.

And then I got transferred to another room to talk to the PA, whom I begged not to take x-rays of me unless she was sure there was a fracture. (Oh, the expense!) A doctor came around to poke my knee, and said I should be fine.

And then the PA came and shot me up with lidocaine until the knee was numb. She poked around some more to make sure she didn't have to sew up the sack around the patella (nope, fine). And then she put 11 stitches in my knee. I watched. It was weird.

Then, the big problem. Despite my mother warning me time and time again to carry a cell phone with me when I run (she hurt herself running last year, sans phone and had a hard time getting home), I didn't bring it. So, I tried my best to remember my friends' emails and hoped someone would check so I could get a ride home.

Poor BFF got a terse email, something to the effect of "Your friend is in the hospital. Come get her IMMEDIATELY," that scared the crap out of her.

Eventually, she arrived in a cab and took me home.

The Recovery:

So, all this week I've been on the couch popping Motrin and watching daytime TV between naps.

I learned that:

-One of the CBS Early Show anchors strongly resembles an Ed Helms character in looks and in awkward jokes and comments.

-Tyra Banks is a big homophobe. She criticized a straight male gay porn star, not for being in porn, but for being in gay porn. I mean, if you're not objecting to the pornulation, what difference does it make (except for the 10 times more money you earn in gay porn)?

-Ellen Degeneres is starting to look like Skeletor, thanks to veganism.

-I never tire of the 11:00am hour of the Today Show, featuring Hoda Kotb and Kathy Lee Gifford. They're so drunk and crazy.

-There might be a "tearful transformation" clause in whatever contract you have to sign to be on "What Not to Wear." I'm just waiting for the make-over subject to look into the camera and say, "I'm going home and buying a new pair of Crocs, a kitty t-shirt, and 20 pairs of sweat pants. Fuck you, Stacy London." Not that I approve of Crocs.

But, yesterday, I had to take the ice pack off, put on some pants, and go to school . By the end of the day, my leg hurt like a bitch and I felt like I was going to spew the Thai food my friends fed me after class. After a long morning of sleep, I found that I can bend my knee a little more. But I still feel like I'm going to spew at any moment. And I'm tired of only having my cat for company. (Sorry, Unicorn. You are lovely, but you are not the best conversationalist.)

The Sum-Up:

Even though my friends tell me I'm a prime candidate for the BAMF* of the Year Award, even though I've desperately wanted to sit on the couch and watch daytime TV, even though I'm going to have a killer cred-giving scar, I'm pretty sure this blows.

A curse on cobblestone!

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*Bad-Ass Mother Fucker