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Dec 22

Hello, It’s Me (the Accident Waiting to Happen)

X ray Scotts right ankle pointer 300x162 Hello, Its Me (the Accident Waiting to Happen)

This accident was a doozy

Well, it’s been a while since I’ve blogged, but I have a very good reason for that. On two separate occasions, within a month of each other, I fell and tore (not pulled) both of my hamstrings. Oh, and I somehow messed up my shoulder in my second fall, too. So for the last two months, actually the last month in particular, I’ve been in so much pain all I’ve been capable of doing is eating, drinking, and whining. Mostly drinking and whining. Okay, mostly whining.

As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, I tend to be accident-prone. I’ve been that way my whole life, which is why in my decades thus far on the planet I’ve broken:

Plus, I’ve cracked my skull so many times I have a permanent dent in the top of my head.

And don’t even get me started on the stitches I’ve had. Or the scars I sport in lieu of the stitches I should’ve had, but didn’t bother to get.

How did it all play out this time? Both accidents are so comically stupid, that if I made them up no one would believe me.

Accident #1

On October 7, I tore my left hamstring bowling. Yes, you read that right. I had a bowling accident that left me temporarily, yet severely, crippled. Now lets keep in mind that in my life I’ve skied double black diamond mogul runs, jumped off the cornice at Mammoth Mountain (with skis on my feet), rappelled off cliffs that were hundreds of feet high, gone white water rafting over waterfalls, climbed Mt. Hood in Oregon, run marathons, did the Tecate-Ensenada 75-mile bike race twice, fought off a mugger on the mean streets of Oakland, and traveled the world by myself starting at age 16. And what takes me down? Throwing a ball in the first frame at Holiday Lanes in Heber.

My comedy-writing partner, Tony Oros, and I decided to go bowling to see if we could mine some he-said/she-said hilarity out of this goofy sport. Of course, I had to be the big cheese by pulling out my very own bowling shoes that I got at a thrift store. Even though they were cool as Boston Cream Pie, they were also slick as cat snot…literally. All the stickiness had worn off the bottoms, which I didn’t realize until I threw the ball and involuntarily did the splits.

Let’s roll that clip now for our studio audience…

Tony wanted to take me to the ER immediately, but since he’d already paid for two games, I insisted that he bowl while I worked on regaining feeling in my left leg. After arguing about this for a bit, we ended up staying. He bowled for himself and me. During which he proceeded to bowl strike after strike after assuring me he sucked at bowling. Nevertheless, I won the first game that he bowled on my behalf. (I’m THAT good.)

Here’s Tony showing me how “bad” he is at bowling:

But by the time we left, my leg started turning blue, my pupils were dilated, I was dizzy with pain, and I couldn’t walk.

Do I know how to show a guy a good time, or what?

Accident #2

On November 7, a month to the day, I was on campus at the University of Utah on my way to teach my self-publishing class when I tripped UP the stairs, thus hyper-extending my right leg. At which time I promptly tore my right hamstring IN THE EXACT SAME SPOT as I had done in my left leg a month before. I’d only been walking for about a week when this happened.

The university had to cancel class for that night, and I had to go through my iPhone contact list until I found a couple of friends who were willing to drive down from Park City (a 35-mile trek one-way) to get me and my car. I think that means I owe them each a kidney someday in return, which mathematically presents a whole new slew of problems.

Plus now I was back to no driving (or walking) for at least three weeks. And although I have no video of it, Tony chauffered me around, at which time we relived several scenes out of Driving Miss Daisy. THAT is when the cameras should’ve been rolling. Nothing like a hippie, dippie West Coast Girl telling a Midwestern Suburban Boy how to drive in the snow. Riding shotgun took on a whole new meaning.

Even though tripping up the stairs (which takes real talent, by the way) was a less dramatic pratfall, it created an injury worse than that of the bowling debacle. Unfortunately, hamstring #2 happens to be taking its own sweet time to heal. And as I previously mentioned, I also tweaked my shoulder in that fall, an injury I promptly ignored until I woke up last Sunday unable to take a deep breath. Seems whatever I did to my shoulder became so acute I now feel like I have a knife sticking in my back.

All this just in time for the holidays.

So in the last 10 weeks I’ve been angrily gimping around the house like a hamstrung, PMS-ing Quasimodo. (I guess that would make me a pissed-off “Quasimoda”?) Which is why I haven’t blogged. My resolution for the New Year is to relearn how to multitask (and to beat Tony at bowling–for real this time). Because who knew breathing while walking upstairs and bowling could be so hazardous to one’s health?

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tmb 468x60 slow Hello, Its Me (the Accident Waiting to Happen)

Stacy Dymalski is an award winning keynote speaker and stand-up comic who gave up the glamorous life of coach travel, smokey comedy clubs, and heckling drunks for the glamourous life of raising kids (who happen to be bigger hecklers than the drunks). This blog is her new stage. For more of Stacy’s comedy check out her book Confessions of a Band Geek Mom available in bookstores and on Amazon in paperback and Kindle.

3 comments

  1. creatorofstuff

    Thrift store shopping is more dangerous than I had originally thought!!!

    (Get better SOON.)

  2. Stacy Dymalski

    I originally bought the bowling shoes at the thrift shop because they were hipster cool. Not because I ever intended to bowl with them. But then when we went bowling, I thought, what the hell. I’ll wear the cute bowling shoes. I guess real bowling shoes do really serve a purpose. Who knew?

    1. creatorofstuff

      If you had a better bowling name you would have known. (Like Hazel, Mildred, Edna…)

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