One night several years ago, I was hurrying downstairs in my dorm, and I slipped. In an attempt to keep from hurtling to my death, I clutched at the iron banister. I succeeded in not dying, but I scraped my arm badly and landed hard on my back. A dorm mate at the bottom of the stairs saw the whole thing. Worried, she asked if I was all right.
I busted out laughing. It hurt so badly, it was funny. This reaction did mot make my dorm mate less worried.
Fast forward a couple of days. I had some lovely bruises: Horizontal marks from the stair treads laddered up my back, and the entire underside of my arm looked like something from a zombie movie. Worse, there were lumps. Not from the swelling (though there was plenty of that, too), but something that felt like small marbles nestled under the bruises.
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| This is how my arm felt. It looked a little worse, actually. |
Now, I'm injury-prone, but muscle-marbles seemed a bit unusual. I made an appointment with the campus doctor. The fact that he'd never met me before is the only way I can excuse the conversation that followed.
"Don't worry; it's not cancer."
Oh, thank god! Because, you know, I've heard cancer of the bruise is particularly aggressive, and that it can easily spread to hangnails and eye boogers.
I gently explained that I wasn't concerned about cancer, I was concerned about having marbles embedded in my muscles.
"Well, in severe deep-tissue bruising, calcium deposits can form. Usually, they just pass through your urinary tract."
I looked at him, and I believe he finally understood that I wasn't an idiot.
"I do not want to pee out marbles."
"Fingers crossed," he said.
Fingers crossed?!
I crossed my fingers hard. It was one of the more successful "non-traditional" treatments I've tried. Let's just say I wasn't left with anything to put in a Christmas ornament.
(True: The bruise on my arm looked almost exactly like the whale fail error from Twitter, except most definitely not smiling. And without the birds.)
I was doing some work on our house and fell off of a ladder and down through a set of stringers for some unfinished steps, banging my legs up pretty badly in the process. I had one of those calcium deposits on my shin the size of a fifty-cent piece. It took over a year for it to finally dissolve (or whatever it is that those things do) and go away. I thought I was going to have a freak leg forever! :P
ReplyDeleteSo there you were, going around campus with a zombie arm, peeing out marbles, and looking forward to the day when your life would become normal, i.e., you'd keep a blog about your tripod dog. Hey, that rhymes!
ReplyDeleteFunny story, Biped! Please keep 'em coming.
@ Seabeegirl: It's scary, isn't it? And, geez, fifty-cent pieces? ...And, that's why I make my friends do all the heavy lifting. Beer and pizza are powerful motivators.
ReplyDelete@ Brian: Normal? Please. All I hope for is that I don't scare small childrem in the grocery store.
On a not-funny note (sorry), I once worked in the kitchen of an Italian restaurant and repeatedly (ya, I'm a klutz) ran my lower belly into the corner of the steel countertop.
ReplyDeleteSome months later, I found a small "marble" (like the size of those edible silver balls you put on baked goods) in the skin on my belly. Not having any clue what it was, I went to the doctor.
I wasn't sure whether to be happy it wasn't cancer or mortified that I had gone to the doctor for what amounted to a long-term bruise.
Hey, no judging here--it's weird! And doctors really ought to tell you what's going on when things are weird. (Also, edible ball bearings. Awesome.)
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