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Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away,. . . no wait, this is authentic, not a fantasy. Skip the Star Wars music, maestro.
Okay, let me start again. Back in 1994, in the last century, I had occasion to break my ankle. Never having broken a bone before, and being 44, I thought I would do it up right, and really really bust it up good. Which I did.
So bad in fact that I had to have surgery to put it all back together again, much like Humpty Dumpty. With pins and plates, the brilliant surgeon tinker toyed my ankle back into some semblance of its original self, never mind that forever more I would set off alarms in airports.
For twelve long weeks, I was casted from knee to toe, and was not allowed to put an ounce of weight on said leg. I was a bit sedentary as you might expect, but did manage to get from place to place using a walker and hopping. It was all tiresome to say the least.
Anyway, to make a long story somewhat shorter, I got the cast off and was given a very strict metal jacket to wear on it and also a pressure sock. So good was my new bionic ankle, that I soon discarded both, and for the most part went happily skipping along with no adverse affects.
The only thing I did notice was a tendency to retain water around said joint, especially on flights and in high altitudes. Raising it was all I needed to do. And so life went on it’s merry way for many a year. This year, the swelling has been about the same, tending to be bad when the humidity is high and I spend long hours at the computer.
Okay, Sherry, get to the point. A couple of weeks ago, I was walking down the kitchen steps outside to turn over some meat on the grill when a step gave way, and I ended up sitting on the next step, with one leg down through to the ground. Since I was not that high up, it wouldn’t appear to be too bad. But I felt a sharp deep aching pain, almost immediately.
As I looked back, I saw protruding from the riser, two nails, rusted and sharp. I envisioned pulling my leg, (if not broken) only to find deep bloody gashes. I was happy to find neither break not gashes, just a long scrap right along my shin. Need I say that it was the same leg as the bionic ankle?
The Contrarian came a running, and I began to moan as the pain began to sear. Little droplets of blood began to ooze along here and there on my shin, the skin was scraped raw. The Contrarian, after determining that I was not about to die, prudently went over and turned the meat, lest the dinner be ruined. I was deeply unimpressed as I continued to moan, bubbling about pain, trembling with tears about to be shed.
The upshot of which is that two weeks later, I have some fine scabs and the surrounding tissue is still mighty sore, yet all seems okay. It has, however, seemed to exacerbate my swelling problem and by evening, my ankle and lower leg are stretched and uncomfortable. I spend the night with pillows under my leg watching TV. By morning all is back to normal and we begin the entire thing again.
Okay, still not getting to the point, I know. I was talking this morning to the Contrarian about how by the end of the day the swelling is bad enough that it starts to stretch my scabs and they hurt. And then of course it happened. “The Great Scab Story” came forth.
“Have I ever told you about my penis and the scab?” he inquired. Yes, dear, I recall the story. He begins to chortle. “I forget, were you cooking bacon?” “No, no, not bacon, popcorn. I forgot the popcorn and forgot to turn off the burner, and well a fire started on the stove.”
“Yes, I remember now.” “And you were naked, while making the popcorn?” The Contrarian gave an exasperated look, “NO, I was not NAKED, I had shorts on, course, I might have been hanging out when battling the fire. I didn’t have time to look.”
“Okay and you burned your penis, yes, I do remember the story.” “And it had a big scab on it, where the burn healed,” he reminded me.
“Yes, I can testify it was not the only scab you’ve ever had. In fact, you have scabs rather often. So what’s the big deal?”
“You said that your scab was pulled when your ankle swells, well my penis scab broke open when I got an erection.”
“I see.”
“You see?” “Obviously you don’t see at all.” DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY ERECTIONS A THIRTEEN YEAR OLD BOY HAS IN A DAY?”
Put in the proper perspective, my shin scabs pale by comparison. Now there’s a story to tell around the water cooler today.
Existential Ennui 