Value at Risk

How do you describe a wound? An injury takes form before or after the point of impact? Am I sane to consider those circumstances as made available by third-party sources or should I also consider all self-imposed matters? Question. Questions. Questioning.

1. Westmale Double, Trappiste, 7%.
2. Chicken on Spinach salad.
3. Walk, 30 minutes.
4. Rollerblade.
5. Rollerblade at 20km/h.
6. Rollerblade at 40km/h.
7. Comment on the ostensible road surface; smooth characteristics.
8. Crash
9. Missing teeth? No. Chin? Crashed. Eyes? OK! Nose? Broken. Blood? Flowing. Watch? Ha! Knees? Abrasions.

Etc. and so on and so forth…

The ER room treated me to a seven hour stay. The MD was kind enough to tell me of my broken condition previous to his manual prognosis. Tragic.

Notwithstanding that I look like a playoff bound hockey player, and that unknown strangers may go on complaining for the next two weeks that they have seen troglodytes and their subsequent apparition embodiment, I will rate this injury, on a scale of one to ten, a 7.17.

Hands. How else can marmosets carry mini sub-machine guns? In my case, however, they were of no use. The fall was absolutely unavoidable. Pothole. A foot by a foot. Deepness: half a foot. Desperation!

And now, I’ve been relegated to the archaic medical provisions put forth by anachronistic medical practitioners in accordance with antagonistic purposes. Rest! Ha! The Gods have gone mad!

My triathlon participation is now contingent on a “speedy recovery.” Given my injury prone past and for that matter future (although speculative at best), a marathon in September should now be the only future competitive event I am to find myself attending. I guess the whiplash and subsequent concussion do not help the broken nose scenario.

Septoplastic surgery or “procedure” is to follow. On Wednesday, our contemporary specialists will realign my deviated septum and, as a result, forward me to take part in a complimentary photo-shoot that, as part of its intent, is to purposely display their skilled precision and artful manipulation.

Enough of this.

I will further update your insatiable hunger for devious details in the future when I have both the capacity and the desire to make fun of all life’s clever innuendos.



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Filed under hospital, injury, rant, risk, rollerblading, triathlon

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