And it’s still not changed

I’d say there’s nothing worse than a broken bone, but there are worse things I can think of. Well, unless you’re suffering from a broken bone and then you hurt, like I do.

I was already dealing with sinus and allergies when I got back from Chicago. I’d had a round of antibiotics and a steroid shot, but still had a cough and congestion. When I got home from work last Friday, I noticed my living room light was burnt out. I didn’t feel like changing it, but told myself to get it over with. I grabbed a wooden dining room chair and placed it underneath for me to climb on so that I could reach the lightbulb.

As soon as I lifted my hands above my head, I felt the chair give way. I crashed through the chair, hit the arm of the couch with my left side and landed on the floor. It jolted me pretty hard, so I laid in the floor long enough to get my breath before trying to get up.

As soon as I did, I felt a sharp pain on my left side. I figured I probably bruised something, so I took some Tylenol and tried not to think about it. By the next morning, I was hurting pretty bad, and laid around until I had to go to work on Monday morning.

I had a doctor’s appointment on Monday for my allergies, and confessed my embarrassing fall while I was there. I ended up doing an x-ray where they confirmed one of my left ribs was broken.

My co-workers and family weren’t surprised at all because I’m always hurting myself. Leslie Mendoza, an employee of Your TIMES, told me she was going to wrap me in bubble wrap for my protection. My boss, Jeff Mayo, told me he hoped I’d called 911 so I would be in the newspaper’s police logs. I told him calling the police or fire department to get me off the floor would have only made things worse by “bruising my pride.”

So, I made a list of everything that hurts: breathing, existing, sleeping, getting in and out of a Ford Expedition, coughing, laughing, wearing a bra … well, you get the idea.

The good news is it doesn’t hurt as bad as a broken tailbone. About 10 years ago, that was my million-dollar injury. The bad news is, it takes six to eight weeks to heal, and my lightbulb still isn’t changed.

Also, apologies to my readers because I ended my last column saying that I’d left my ex-husband in Ohio. It should have read that I left him in Chicago. I’ll blame it on my pain medication.