Yesterday morning, I fell. I was in the chicken coop and somehow I must have stepped on a branch (that we use for a roosting bar) with my left foot, tripped over the branch with my right foot (those toes were trapped under the branch), and then fell on top of the branch. Thankfully I was wearing pants because, even though it still scraped up my leg, it could have been worse. Oh, and the pants protected my legs from all that chicken poop that I landed on. It could have been worse.
The area that was swollen (and actually only slightly bruised but hurts so freaking much) is longer than my pointer finger. And I have long fingers. It's kind of hard to see in the picture, but it hurts. Oh, it hurts. It hurt to touch the mattress last night and it hurt to move it. It hurts when I stand up from sitting. It hurts when I'm sitting. I can't cross that leg and let it dangle.
Apparently I'm just a klutz. Since I fell in July I haven't been right. I'm still sporting a scar on my shin from that fall and I didn't blog this but at the time I thought I broke my pinkie finger. I didn't have it checked out until September, when I went in for my pre-op appointment. They x-rayed it and said it was not broken, but if it still hurt in a month they wanted me to see a hand specialist. Well ... it still hurts. I'm trying to justify it by saying it doesn't hurt as much as it did a month ago, but it still hurts. Especially when it's cold. And this morning there is a chill in the air and my pinkie hurts.
And my knee hurts. Boy, my knee hurts.