Now it all makes sense...

Warning: This post contains the word "nipple." It also contains needless violence. If you can tolerate the "nipple" and the violence, you are in for a heart-warming ending. 


It was a rough weekend. I am entering my 7^th week as a non-weight bearing, asshole crutch using, sweaty knee brace wearing, non-driving, dependent bather. It’s getting old. Really old. The events of the weekend; however, completely sent me over the edge. Luckily, the events could be considered entertaining. At least it makes for an interesting blog post.

Saturday was a beautiful evening at Candle Lake. Sitting around the campfire with 10 fabulous friends, we drank margaritas (I told you, I’m drinking again. Screw balance) and enjoyed the warm, mosquito-filled evening. Propped up on a chair in front of me, even my angry knee was in his “happy place.” Suddenly, a spark popped out of the fire, landing on my “bad” foot. Jerking my leg away instinctively, my knee locked up, causing instant excruciating pain. Let me tell you, nothing dampers the mood of a friendly gathering quite like a hostess screaming bloody murder whilst writhing in agony on the grass. Tears streaming down my face, I assured my guests (who were now staring at me in horror) that the party should go on; however, I would be removing myself to privately tend to the horrific cramping I was now experiencing from thigh to ankle. As I looked down at my knee is despair, I was, at least, comforted by this:

There is NO weakness left. I give! I give!

The next morning as I sat sipping my tea on our deck, contemplating the events of the previous evening in my Tylenol 3 induced fog, I was shocked as a wasp flew into my bikini top. Unable to flee, I swatted at my top, trying to free the insect from my “booby trap.” AAAAGGGGGHHHHH! It was too late. The angry wasp stung my….well…my…nipple (I’m sorry, I promised never to speak of “lady parts” again – but a nipple isn’t really a “lady part” is it?). Yep. It stung my nipple. As I painfully attempted to squeeze the stinger out, I couldn’t help but think that other than the size of my right nipple (which was growing exponentially), things were deteriorating rapidly.

Picture of stung nipple here. What? it didn't load? Damnit. 

The realization of what was happening hit me that night as I awoke in an itchy frenzy. A heat rash had developed under my knee brace, causing me to lose my mind, scratching like a maniac until my skin began to bleed. As I scratched manically, my calf began cramping. Alternating between scratching and screaming, it suddenly became apparent. It all made sense. Of course! I am a participant in the Hunger Games. Why didn’t I think of this sooner? If you’ve read the Hunger Games, you will know exactly what I am talking about. If you haven’t, go read it NOW. It’s awesome. Basically, the premise is that participants in these “games” are being tortured/killed for the amusement of the spectators. I immediately searched the ceiling for signs of the elusive cameras that were obviously tracking my every torturous experience. “Send in the tracker jacks!” I yelled, “End it now!”

Good Gawd.

So now that I’ve gotten to the bottom of things, I’m looking for a Hunger Games sponsor to graciously float a gift my way as I navigate through this treacherous games arena. I’m looking more for comfort type gifts (magazines, booze); as opposed to offensive weapons (lasers that shoot out of my crutches).  Thank you. May the odds be ever in your favour.

This just in....went to see my Orthopedic Surgeon today and I now have the go-ahead to weight-bear! It seems my cartilage-growing is complete. This is fabulous news! Obviously, I had to hit rock bottom first as a Hunger Games participant. Bring on the rehab - Dr. says 4 months; however, he has no idea how awesome I am (and how badly I want to ditch my asshole crutches). I give it 2.

Sayanora asshole crutches!!!!! (once I can safely weight-bear, of course)