buns of steel

If a doctor offered me today to replace my bones with steel, or perhaps a titanium alloy, I would have to say go for it. Because although my body has been generally kind to me over the years, I've been having a few problems with it lately. Last week it was my hand, causing me to spend the four-hour car ride to Tahoe with my left hand cupping the mangled right one, an ugly bruise spread across the palm and the fingers curled in and unable to straighten out. God knows what happened to it (this is why you should listen to your mother when she tells you not to drink. It really isn't becoming of a lady) but I do remember some fighting. I was pretty sure it was broken, but having never broken a bone in my life and having just canceled my health insurance two weeks before, I had no way of confirming this. So I adapted to my claw-hand, comforting myself with the fact that lots of things cope with three digits.





So I'm ok with my three fingered lifestyle, although it was depressing to learn that I can no longer eat with chopsticks. But last Friday, I started having pains in my left side whenever I breathed. Which happens to be quite a lot. I didn't worry about it too much until I woke up Saturday, still unable to breathe without wincing. I started to get a little worried, so I did what anyone without insurance has to do to diagnose their ailment. I went on WebMD.com to see what I had. Turns out, according to the little clickable body, it was either a miscarriage or some sort of imminent kidney failure. I should mention that I am somewhat of a hypochondriac, so I was immediately convinced I would need a kidney transplant and started mentally listing possible kidneys to harvest. When I still couldn't laugh without screaming by Monday, I decided to reinstate my medical coverage and go to the doctor.

As it turns out, my kidneys are fine and this is most likely a muscle strain. Possibly from my sedentary career path, but also and more alarmingly, possibly from the salsa dancing I did last Thursday night. This is frightening because the class is beginner level and there is no explanation for the intense pain I am in merely from being twirled around for half an hour. If this is what my thirties have in store for me, then I may as well order my Rascal now...although I'm not sure how well I'll be able to operate the controls.