I’m clumsy. I’ll admit it. I definitely would blame my shoes (and have thrown out a pair or two to absolutely clarify fault) but last weekend I had nothing.
I have no idea what made me think that I should ditch the shopping cart in the grocery store and try to carry 18 filled grocery bags to my car. Because I fell. In the crosswalk. In front of God and everybody. Have you heard of a face plant? Well, mine was more of a…boob plant. Because I landed squarely on my chest. Hard. Luckily for me, I had a bag full of frozen pizzas that helped soften the fall.
I mean, I was in the crosswalk to ensure that as many people as possible could witness my fall. I heard someone get out of their car. I heard “OMG! Are you okay?” All within a nano-second of my jumping back up, grabbing my bags and loudly stating “I’m Fine! I’m Okay!” and running to my car in absolute embarrassment. I could have had a broken hip and blood flowing profusely from my body and it still would not have stopped me from getting out of there in under 20 seconds.
When I got home, I decided not to tell my husband. Frankly, I just wasn’t in the mood to hear the same lecture about needing to be more careful, watch where I am going, you could really get hurt, etc. etc. (I’ve already admitted this isn’t my first). But then when I went to bed a few hours later, I had a small breathing issue. In that I couldn’t breathe laying down. So I thought it would be best if I admitted what happened just in case I might need emergency medical attention in the middle of the night or something. Thankfully I did not and the recliner came to my rescue to help me sleep sitting up.
I rather thought all was well. Until my insides started messing with me. I got over the worst of the whole breathing thing the next day. But it felt like my insides just sloshed up all over each other which was causing some issues. Like I couldn’t keep any food down. Of course, my immediate thought was “Great! Weight loss opportunity!” but after two days I became a tad more concerned.
Because besides not being able to o keep any food down, my insides just felt—weird. Like they were all disconnected and in the wrong place.
What I should NOT have done was google: “Medical issues from a hard fall.” Because you get results that pretty much tell you to go to the emergency department and you are going die. And that is after the surgery you will need to repair the tear in your diaphragm.
Okay, fine. Off to the doctor I go. Luckily I got the same urgent care doctor that I saw two weeks earlier who remembered me (I could insert my diarrhea story here but I won’t; you’re welcome). When I explained my concern, he said if it were too severe I would need to go to the ED. Which made me quickly back pedal on the urgency of my symptoms because I knew that was not going to happen. He poked around and didn’t seem to find any real pain and finally told me if the vomiting didn’t go away by the end of the week, I should go see my primary care doctor. And called in a prescription for nausea medicine.
Ultimately I self-diagnosed myself with bruised ribs. Which when googled explained exactly what I was feeling. This time I totally agreed with Google.
And I didn’t even try to explain to my husband why the frozen pizzas I had just bought were in teeny tiny pieces when he tried to cook them.