Why I don't like fun things

I have not posted in a long time because Ryan and I went on a fun-filled vacation. It was truly delightful to see the family, as always, but I was reminded why perhaps my observance of a life without fun activities has been wise.

Exhibit A: spine

I woke up in the wee hours last night to discover a pain near my right shoulder blade that would have been crippling had I been trying to do anything. Come to think of it, it was crippling my ability to sleep, so it does qualify as a crippling pain. I lay awake for as many hours as it took until the alarm went off at 7:30, when I alerted Ryan to my plight. I assumed a prostrate position and he performed a deft diagnosis.

"You have a rib out".

A rib out? I didn't know ribs were 'in'. Thanks to the above-pictured radiograph, we can all learn a bit about which prepositions can be accurately used to describe the position of one's ribs. As you can plainly see, the ribs highlighted by white arrows have joint articulations with the transverse process and the body of this thoracic vertebra. Ribs can be in, ribs can be out. When they're out, it hurts somethin' fierce.

I will never know how I managed to dislocate a rib while asleep.

Ryan popped the little vagrant back into place, but my back, thanks to a night of most-unpleasant spasm, is still in considerable pain. I blame the renegade rib on the whiplash-inducing spill I took after a long day poorly executed on a snowboard.

Exhibit B: armI know it's blurry, but I still think the huge tumoresque protrusion on my forearm is visible. Several years ago I wrecked my beloved minivan; all that remains is a small particle of windshield in my forearm. I never had it removed. I like to think it reminds me to wear my seatbelt. The glass-infused forearm has never given me any trouble, but I have never tested it as a braking mechanism at high speeds. Turns out, when your glass-filled arm hits the snow at a million uncontrolled miles per hour, your glass filled arm will get a glass-filled hematoma of disgusting proportion.


We had fun; it was beautiful. But I can't seem to narrow the gap between cost and benefit in the world of fun activities. Here is a picture of the mountain whose base nearly caused my untimely demise. I don't know if you can tell, but Ryan is singlehandedly keeping me stationary in this picture. Without him, I would have been sliding uncontrollably down the mountain or using my only defense against high speeds: falling on my derrière.

Did someone say derrière?

Because mine didn't quite fit into whichever adolescent brother's-in-law snow pants I ripped off, and Ryan thought that was pretty funny and worth archiving. Who cares that my face is shadowed? You can still see my best asset just fine.