Yesterday (not really...it happened back in 1802 when I was younger!), I had fallen while walking down the paved walkway to my apartment. Yes, it was now nearly two o'clock in the morning and I had been gone since 8:00pm the night before. It was difficult to believe that six hours had passed. Six long, grueling hours of manipulating my arm, needles filled with numbing agent, intravenous laced with pain medication, micro surgery performed on it in an effort to piece together the shattered bones. All because I slipped, fell and put out my hand to catch myself. Did I know I was going to sit on it with my big butt when I landed?
Yearning for sleep, I thought Thank goodness, the kids are still sleeping as I laid down on the living room couch to get some rest. In the morning I would have to call my boss and call out sick. Wondering if I would get paid and for how long, I began worrying about the bills, the rent, food, my kids. The doctor had told me my next visit was in one week after the swelling subsides, which is when they would put on the permanent cast. Then I could return to work.