I didn’t get corpse tendons put in my ankles in 1996.
Despite my mom’s best efforts, I ignored my need for surgery.
What if the anesthesia doesn’t work, and I feel everything, and I can’t scream or tell anyone, and I am trapped in my own mind?
I’ll be on crutches for weeks, and there are a million steps in school, and you’ll probably have to end up homeschooling me.
What if my body rejects the foreign tendons and they start to decompose in my own living body?
I will basically be bed ridden afterward, for God knows how long, and I’ll probably have to wear a diaper. ARE YOU COMFORTABLE CHANGING YOUR GROWN DAUGHTER’S DIAPER MOM!?
She came to her senses, I tried some physical therapy, and got back to my fighting weight for winter indoor soccer season.
My ankle was always swollen.
I walked kinda funny.
I fell a lot.
I couldn’t wear anklets.
My ankles ached when it stormed.
I was pretty much the most attractive teenager ever.
But, I made it through high school without another major injury.
In fact, I continued playing in college.
I bought these really amazing heels from Bakers.
Which is where you go when you want shoes sexier than you could find at JC Penny, but not so sexy they are clear and come with pole traction.
I was 19 and my dorm was going out to celebrate someone’s birthday.
We walked out of the residence hall, and turned the corner.
I didn’t have a bra on.
Which is not the norm for me.
Girls with big boobs, while fun on trampolines, are not made to go braless in polyester slut tops.
We crossed the road, and I was trying to coax my boob back up above the stupid seam that normal sized boobs are supposed to sit above, and I wasn’t paying attention, and my foot landed funny, my ankle rolled, and pop!
I was sitting on a dirty curb at 11 o’clock at night in Columbus Ohio. Next to the bus stop where the homeless guy always sings Brian McKnight’s Back At One.
My ankle was swelling and blue, and I felt like I was going to throw up, both from pain and the Red Faygo-99 Bananas concoction I had in my room.
I couldn’t walk, a crowd was starting to gather, my boobs were below the seams, it was a disaster.
Andy kept offering to carry me back to the dorm, but I refused. Clearly, because I was lucid enough to realize that if he tried to carry me, and he couldn’t pick me up, he would dump be for being morbidly obese.
He left me on the corner to go find someone with a car to take me to the Emergency Room.
Forty minutes later, he pulled up to the corner with our RA. I was laying on the cold cement, doing Lamaze breathing exercises with my friend Shannon, who learned them in preparation for this one time she thought she was pregnant in High School.
We sped to the ER, where I spent six hours in an exam room, until a doctor who looked younger than me walked in with a clip board.
Ok so, it’s obvious you have a previous injury to your left ankle that was never corrected with surgery, was surgery not previously offered to you?
No, it totally was, I declined.
Well miss, I really recommend you get a consult and get it scheduled, this is going to be a repetitive situation until the tendons are repaired.
Have they invented a non dead body way of fixing tendons yet?
Like robot tendons?
Listen, the surgery isn’t as scary as-
I don’t like maggots.
Why would there be maggots?
My parent’s had a freezer in their garage, and it died without us knowing, for, like, 2 months, and so one day I went to get frozen pancakes out, and when I opened it, there were maggots and it smelled like a dead body. I couldn’t handle if my ankle smelled like that.
It’s not like that, they don’t dig up dead bodies, it’s fresh tissue.
Is it offensive if I ask if you can use the tissue from something living?
Like a living person?
Or, like, a cheetah.
Yeah, we can’t use a cheetah.
Oh, because they are endangered?
No, because they are not physiologically compatible.
Yeah, I don’t think that’s correct, I saw a story on the Today Show about some guy that had a pig heart…or something…I can’t remember.
Well, I think we are done here, let me get you your crutches, take the aircast off when you shower, stay out of the high heels.
By the time I hobbled back to my dorm, it was the next morning, and everyone was still sleeping away hangovers in their party clothes, but they hung a get well banner over my bed, only, because they were all clearly smashed at the time, it read “Get Welsh Brick!”
Which didn’t even make any sense.
Not even with the percocet.
I could literally be a poster child for why you shouldn’t send your kids away to school.
UPDATED: I never got the surgery. Anti-climactic, right? I’m just not good with sharing spaces, like my ankle, with strangers.
UPDATED AGAIN: Yes, Andy still has those pants OMG.