Okay, okay, fine. I’ll tell the story of my broken arms. I was considering waiting until Dallas to tell it because it’s just so much funnier with Mike doing his impression of me, but you’ll just have to bug him to do it in Dallas. (See, Mike? Now you have to for sure go.)

By the way, this post is rated PG 13 for scenes of violence and implied language. The ER scene is not for the squeamish.

Okay, before our wedding, a friend of ours had given us a day at the local spa as a pre-wedding gift to help us relax. This place had mineral pools, hot and cold, mud baths, and was all very posh. We had spent the whole day at the spa and were getting ready to go home. The locker rooms were at the top of the terrace, and I was waiting for Peter. I don’t know why. And maybe that was the first time in history a woman was waiting for a man. Anyhow, the terrace overlooked the mud baths. This woman was getting out with her back to me, and I was trying to figure out if she had a huge tattoo over her back or if it was just a combo of drying and wet mud.

Unfortunately for me, I kept walking while I was looking at her. And since I didn’t have kids yet, I didn’t have eyes in two places on my head. So, I neglected to see the stairs that were coming up and proceeded to tumble off them.

I did manage to get my hands out in front of my face to break my fall . . . I blacked out from the pain so I knew both of my arms were broken. Even moving at all was excruciating because it knocked the broken joints together.

Of course someone ran and got the emergency personnel from the spa and the first question they ask was, was I drinking? Which I suppose is an obvious question because how many sober people manage to fall downstairs in the daylight? Um, me?

Peter says I told the ER intern (I knew he was an intern, not a doc, so I could push him around) “I’m getting married in two weeks and you are NOT putting casts on my arms.” I don’t remember that. Needless to say, I didn’t find it all amusing with the nurses were joking in the ER about whether or not my wedding dress had long sleeves or if they had some lace laying around they could inlay in my casts. I do remember the INTERN shoving a needle full of Tordol into my elbow joint (after sucking out a needleful of blood) and then jerking my arm around asking if that hurt. I don’t think what I responded was CBA approved. Uh, yeah, it hurt.

However, as luck would have it, I came out of the ER with only splints and slings. No casts. Because both joints had basically crumbled from my humerus and ulna colliding, they were afraid that the joint would freeze if they casted them. Believe me by the next day I was wishing I had casts. Every slight movement caused searing pain.

Oh, and I was wearing contacts. Can you imagine how I got them out that night? I tried to get Peter to take them out for me, but even he wasn’t that brave. I think he put up with me screaming while I lifted my arms (need both hands) to get them out. He then packed me up and deposited me on my mom’s doorstep since I couldn’t possibly live by myself. Poor guy! I’m amazed he wasn’t scared off by all that.

The other funny part (not funny at the time, but Mike’s interpretation is pretty hysterical) was that we went to Maui for our honeymoon. And went snorkeling. I kind of have this problem of not thinking ahead, so I figured how hard could snorkeling be? I’d be floating in the water so it would be no pressure on my arms. However, I neglected to think about how I would get back into the boat. You have to pull yourself up a ladder, something I couldn’t do. I think it was a combo of me sitting on a boogie board and hooking one arm around the ladder while Peter shoved me up that finally did it.

I’d like to say that was my last broken bone, but it wasn’t. I probably have a few more in my future too.

Aren’t you sorry you asked?