First of all, I would like to say that I've never considered myself a wimp. I've had 2 babies, one being 9 1/2 pounds to boot, and I've even taken a vacation with my mother-in-law. If you knew her, you would know that qualifies me for non-wimp status. But this week has left me with the terrible feeling that maybe I was wrong.
Last week I had a rather unfortunate accident here at the house, which caused my pinky finger on my left hand to be broken. That's right, b-r-o-k-e-n. Not being a wimp (see above) I tried to tough it out, telling myself that it was just bruised and all fingers, when they're bruised, are supposed to be twice the size of normal fingers.
Anyway, the next day I wake up to a brand-new day. I go to wash my hands, and silly me, bend my finger. After nearly passing out from the pain (no joke) Scott convinces me that there could be something a little more serious going on with the old digit.
So after having x-rays and all that stuff I found out it is indeed broken. No heavy typing, keep the splint on for 4-5 weeks, and you'll be as good as new.
Okay, fast forward to this week. I have now done something to my lower back. I get up like an old woman, walk like a duck, and feel like a fool. I don't even know what I did to my back, so when people ask what's wrong with my back, I don't have an answer.
People say that when you hit 40 things start going downhill. I'm not 40 yet - I've got a few years to go - but I've got a birthday this week and I feel like this is God's way of telling me things are about as good as they're going to get.
As I said earlier, I'm not a wimp. I am, apparently, a whiner.
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