A Painful Reputation

Last night I banged my elbow on the back of a chair, a whack that reverberated to my core and took my breath away. After an outburst of profanity, I broke into the most Tearful.Sobbing.Ever as if I was on hour 23 of a 24-hour Beaches marathon. The entire family burst out laughing,  putting the funny in funny bone. I think I have a pretty high pain tolerance and am undeserving of my wimpy reputation.

For example…

I experienced drug-free childbirth by accident. Oops! Most memorable internal monologue: “That better have been the head!”

I’ve had numerous corneal abrasions, a fancy term for getting the equivalent of a paper cut on your eyeball. Slice!

I lived through dry socket, which is as bad as it sounds. A post-oral surgery torture so severe that four out of five dentists recommend running into oncoming traffic to deaden the pain.

I’m sure if given the chance, my peeps would provide hours and hours of so-called evidence about my wolf-crying hypochondria and over-dramatic suffering. But I have one advantage—I’m the one with the blog. And, as with any good complex, it is mandatory to blame the mother.

I was about 10 years old, enjoying a spin on my frosty sky blue bicycle. I rode round and round and round on this random circular cement patio we had in the backyard. Happily singing the theme song to Happy Days,  I suddenly wiped out like Fonzie when he failed to clear his bike over the line of 14 garbage cans. “Trapped” under the bike, I waited to be rescued by my mother or Mrs. Cunningham (whoever came first). Then it started to rain.

I later learned that my mother saw the whole thing from the window. She noticed that my little finger was up and bent for afternoon tea with the queen.

Oh boy, she hurt her pinky.

She had to wait until she could keep a straight face before coming to get me. Turned out I had a compound fracture. The odd thing is that’s the part of the story that my mother forgot.

You did? I remember so clearly you lying on the ground in the rain with that bent pinky.

Her excuse for forgetting there was an actual injury in my dainty digit:

I must have blocked it out. Too painful.