“That doesn’t look good,” said Paul, happening upon me icing my leg at the kitchen table, after I’d smacked and twisted it while unloading hay out of the truck into the barn.
(In case you didn’t know, if you’ve ever wondered why trailer hitches were invented, it’s so that you can locate your shin in the dark.)
“Does it hurt?”
I lifted the bag of frozen peas to display both my shin and knee cap, trying desperately to balloon in size.
“Yes.” I assented. “Yes, it hurts.”
“Better take an Advil,” he advised breezily, as he departed the kitchen en route to his office.
“Wellll,” I mused, stretching out my bare leg and taking a long look. My legs with their 36” inseam have always been terribly skinny. In fact, my knees are the biggest part of my legs. They look like a pair of strings with knots tied in them. “I’m not sure I will take an Advil.” I said, watching the swelling move south. “My calf has never looked so shapely.”
“Yeah,” Paul replied over his shoulder. “Edema is dead sexy. Ask any guy.”
Actually, I’ve no idea what Paul finds sexy. On one hand he once told me he liked my gams because he was a leg man. Then I overheard him say to a friend, “Pam may not have the best legs, but she’s got the most.”
I didn’t go to a doctor because I didn’t believe anything was broken. I could still push a full wheelbarrow through the muddy slop following recent downpours. It ached like hell whenever I rose to walk after sitting or driving. But after several steps the pain subsided. My own diagnosis is probably ligament injury. Which means one thing: R.I.C.E. (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation)
May I just ask, gentle reader, for you to tell me of this strange thing called rest? I’m not being deliberately obtuse. I do understand that medically, that is the best approach. But I’ve yet to meet a single person, unless they’re filthy rich and can hire a team of personal assistants, who would say, “Oh, yes, I intend to rest, ice, wear a compression bandage and elevate it for several days. I don’t need to pick up my kids after school or clean house or anything.” or “Sure thing, I don’t have to be at work for days.” or in my case, “Those horses can feed and clean up after themselves this week.’ It’s just not feasible.
After careful research I’ve invented my own approach: C.R.A.P: Cuss, Rest (after work), Ache, Prosecco. It’s based on zero clinical studies but it did actually make me feel better.