25 June 2013

Convalescing the wrong way

After previous surgeries, I was still able to use my right arm. This time righty was subjected to the knife, so I had exactly zero useful arms. Matt had to help me with everything. Everything. To make matters worse, he refused to make airplane noises and pretend the fork was coming in for a landing when feeding me! With such subpar hospice care, it's a miracle I heeled at all.

Having long since grown sick of being stuck at home, I quickly grew restless. I needed something to occupy my drugged out mind. Clearly there was only one solution: Lego video games! By the time I returned to work, I managed to not only beat, but get every achievement on Batman 2, Harry Potter: Years 5-7, and Lord of the Rings. A worthwhile pursuit, if I do say so myself.

Alas, even with the drugs, mindless video games weren't enough to overcome the ennui associated with never leaving the house. This resulted in me deciding that we needed to buy lots of tiny drawers to better organize things RIGHT NOW, which is how I found myself at The Container Store less than two weeks after surgery.

I stumbled through the aisles, completely amused by nearly everything, such as a two foot tall metal filing cabinet with oodles of thin drawers. The best part? It was orange! Imagine the fun I could have opening and closing the drawers if only it wasn't on the very top shelf!

Matt valiantly attempted to get down the new object of my affections. What he failed to notice was a three inch clear piece of plastic at the edge of the shelf. The bottom of the cabinet caught and all the pointy metal shelves tumbled out. I instinctively reached up to save Matt's head from imminent peril. If that wasn't bad enough, I managed to deflect the impudent drawer into my left boob, pointy side first.


The employee a few yards away helpfully chastised us with, "The plastic is there so you don't take things down off the top shelf. It's clearly labeled." Then he calmly strolled away, under the guise of getting help. He never came back.

Eventually I stopped screaming, if only because I needed to inhale. Meanwhile, Matt surveyed the shelves looming over head. Sure enough, some of the plastic "guards" were labeled, just not the one in question. Hmmm... lawsuit?

The filing cabinet incident left a grotesque black and blue mark that impressed Dr. PlasticSurgeon and added a few weeks healing time.

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