Why I Am Going To The Doctor Tomorrow...AGAIN

I think I've mentioned that I'm a klutz. My mother used to seriously believe that I was at best self-destructive and perhaps at worst suicidal, but no...I really am klutzy enough to knock out a front tooth by running into the side of the GARAGE, to f*** up my knee for life by slipping on some ice, and to sprain my ankle by falling down a hill in San Francisco. Sober. In broad daylight. And now I can add to these tales of woe.

I was playing on a softball team this spring and summer. I am a spectacularly bad softball player, but I enjoyed it. Last Thursday, (one week ago almost to the minute as I write this) I stepped off first base to begin running, heard a snap in my calf and went down. And was carried off the field. I knew I'd torn a calf muscle, but was leaving for the beach the next day. I didn't see a doctor, but I figured there was nothing a doc could tell me anyway besides the RICE routine (rest, ice, compression, elevation for all of you out there that may not be as conversant in treatment of injuries as I apparantly am...). So I went to the beach, walked carefully, rested as much as possible (not hard...it was the BEACH, after all) and generally felt a lot better within a few days.

Wednesday, I returned to work. And Oh My God. My leg went from feeling better to looking like I had allowed the softball team to use it for batting practice. See below:

The picture is gross, but it doesn't do the bruise-that-is-my-lower-leg justice. It is bruised from the knee to below the ankle. That ankle there that is usually normal sized. Which is attached to that foot that is normally not puffy. I may not have an anywhere-near-perfect body, but I do have nice legs. This is not my leg. It is a distorted caracature.

And that is why I'm going to the nice doctor tomorrow for (hopefully) some verystrong pain meds, even stronger anti-inflammatories, and perhaps a prescription to wear long pants for a month. Which will be fun in Georgia in August.