Separated from the one I love

Due to the March Break, my bus to work has changed its schedule. Why a bus that runs specifically to haul suburbanites to the downtown core would change to accommodate a reduction in high school student ridership, I do not know.

I was in a hurry and kept my eyes on the empty bus stop ahead of me. Nobody there, did the bus already come? Do I have a 45 minute wait ahead of me? Perhaps the bus -- OH FUCK! -- and I slipped on a patch of ice. I have not slipped on ice in years, and had forgotten the golden rule: Just fall and take it. Sadly, I thrust out my right arm to break the fall. It lodged itself into a solid snowbank. Instead of breaking my fall, my body broke. I heard tearing.

Rolling in agony on the ground, a witness to the entire scene drove off. Asshole. Using my three functioning limbs (I no longer count my "third leg" as a limb), I primitively stumbled home. Once in my apartment, I tried to assess the damage. Unfortunately, I was in too much pain to do so. I called my boss, left a message summarizing the morning's events. I called a co-worker and left a message, in case my boss was absent. It was now 6:50AM, you were probably still in bed, reader.

I called a few family members, did not get answers. I called a clinic, and expressed relief to the woman who answered the phone. She said that the office was open, but a doctor would not be present until 9AM. "I think I separated my shoulder," I plead. She coldly replied, "Then, sir, you should go to the hospital." Not a bad idea.

I called a cab, got into the cab, and experienced every pot hole my city had to offer. Screaming in anguish, my driver apologized and slowed the cab down. Other drivers angrily honked at us as they sped past. Assholes! Kill you!

Upon entering the emergency ward, or ER as you American readers might call it, I found a chair to grimace in. I only waited a couple of minutes. O! how great our medical system is in Canada! The receptionist asked me a few questions and arranged for a man dressed in green to put me in a wheelchair. The wheelchair took me down a hall to a stretcher. The man helped me take my dress shirt off. He cut my undershirt off. Then I saw what had happened to me.

My shoulder, upon first glance, was a sharp point. The arm was several inches below where it was supposed to be. I looked at the green guy, and said, "Oh, this is bad." He deadpanned, "It's not that bad." He is being paid to lie to me like that.

Blah blah blah, it took another seven hours for me to get out of the hospital.

Now I am typing this entry for your reading pleasure. These events occurred yesterday. Yes, this is how tough I am. I have wrenched my arm towards the keyboard so that I could painfully type this message to you. Just another reminder of how awesome I am!