At least I was having fun when it happened this time

At least I was having fun when it happened this time

I have written about various WASTHTR events in the blog, especially in the health arena. Though, I’ve not written about breaking my arm while walking my neighbor’s dog 3 years ago, nor how my physical therapist broke my ribs once in a therapeutic intervention gone awry, nor the breaking of my ribs in a car accident when I was in grad school. Suffice it to say, in all of these events , I was NOT having fun prior to the bone snapping activities.
I now have a WASTHTR in which merriment was being made.
Friday night I went over to the apartment of a new date for the evening. We were having a few beers, talking, watching TV. The evening progressed to a more amorous level. At one point, he was standing behind me, and gave me a big bear hug. I should note here that I am not a man of large stature. I’m 5’5”. I’ve lost over 50 pounds over the past few years and weighed in at 134 last week. He is not a large man, either. He’s under 6’, (and 160-180, I’d guess.) But he is built solid, and strong. HE gave me the vice grip bear hug, and I felt the rib(s)—mine, not his pop. He misconstrued my groan as one of pre-orgasmic ecstasy and not one of pain. Not wanting to ruin the moment, nor freak him out, I allowed him to continue with this misperception. Besides that, I was having a really good time. I thought it was probably a minor dislocation. We continued our play. I won’t go into detail.
I woke up Saturday morning, hurting a bit. I went to the gym—I did my cardio. I went to the butterfly press machine. OUCH. My left rib cage really hurt. I dropped the amount of weight and persevered. I went to the free weights. I lie down on the bench, dumb bell in each hand in an outstretched cross formation. I try to lift the weights up in the air. OMG, the pain was sharp and shooting. FUCK! I could not raise the barbell. FUCKFUCKFUCK!
I shower, leave and call Louie, my massage & physical therapist.
“Lou, I need to see you. I think I’ve popped a couple of ribs.”
“WHAT?!”
I think I’ve popped a couple of ribs.”
“How?”
“Let’s just say I was having a good time when it happened.”
He’s out of town for the weekend. He can see me Monday night. I go over. The lightest touch to my left ribs nearly sends me through the ceiling. He confirms that it’s real. That it’s not in my head—that I’ve popped and/or bruised 2- 3 ribs. I am to take it easy—and wait it out. There’s really nothing to be done for rib injuries other than wait it out. I've discovered one disadvantage to losing a lot of weight. You also lose the cushion and padding that adds a layer of protection. At least I had fun getting injured this time. ©wtf/rle