There is a saying among journalists about going the extra mile for the story, giving it your all, tossing caution to the wind to get the facts, all the facts and nothing but the facts. Then, of course, it's all right to embellish. After all that hard work, you're entitled. I'm just kidding. We generally embellish before we get the facts.
I'm here to tell you that I have spared no personal pain to bring you a startling story. It's not for the faint of heart, and you may want to make your children leave the room while you read. They're going to wonder why your face suddenly screwed up as though you'd just had a flashback to the governor's race.
Contrary to popular opinion, it is possible to sprain a boob. I am living proof. Actually, I'm not sure the word living accurately conveys what happens after the spraining of a boob, but my editor wouldn't let me use the word I wanted to use.
Boob sprainage is an under-reported experience in this country. Whether due to embarrassment on the part of the boob sprainee, or incompetence on the part of the medical community, this painful injury must be brought out into the light of day, out from the closet where it's been hidden due to society's inablility to deal with the word "boob."
You can sprain a wrist, an ankle or a finger. I happened to have sprained a boob.
When I hobbled into Dr. White-marsh's office and told him what was wrong, I though he was going to have a coronary.
"You what?" he said.
"I think I sprained my boob"
His face turned three shades of red, and I wasn't sure if he was laughing or suffering from a sudden onset of facial rosacea. He asked me what happened, and I told him the following story:
"I had volunteered to go up into the mountains and be a camp leader for a bunch of prepubescent teenage girls in the wilderness. This was my first mistake. They say that no good deed goes unpunished, and I'm considering having that credo tattooed on someone's chest. Just not my own - it's still sprained.
"While I was there, enjoying the mosquitos, the dust, the not-being-able-to-shower and the sleeping-with-spiders, I was attacked by a lawn chair and a picnic table."
He interrupted: "Do you have witnesses?"
"Of course I do. There were about 350 girls gathered around to do an activity involving trust and ropes and something about something that I can't quite remember right now because I'm in pain."
"OK, go on."
"Well, it was hot. Did I mention it was hot? Upwards of 200 degrees in the shade, and I was thirsty. So I grabbed a bottle of water that had been sitting in a tub of ice. Since some other girls around me looked hot, I thought I'd cool them off. I'm nothing if not helpful. Plus, being an adult leader, sometimes you have to take charge. I was heading off the inevitable heat stroke that was coming to them. I should have gotten a medal. Instead I got doused with ice-cold water right back.
"I'm not saying I didn't have it coming, but it was a shock to my system. This is where the lawn chair and the picnic table saw I was at a disadvantage and moved in for the kill."
"You tripped and fell on them, didn't you?" the doc guessed.
"Well, if you want to put it like that, I guess so."
"And you landed on your ... uh ... side?"
"No, I landed on my boob."
At this point he opened the door to the examination room and called a nurse to come in for a minute. I think he was still trying very hard not to laugh at me.
"I don't have to show you, do I??"
"Well, yeah. I have to see the injury."
After examining the bruises, he gave me a prescription for painkillers and told me avoid picnic tables and lawn chairs in the future. I told him it's not a problem. I'm going back to that camp and make kindling out of both.
Now I know why boob sprainage is such an under-reported medical occurrence. It's bad enough that you've done something silly enough to have sprained your boob, but then to have to show it to someone in the medical community is like adding insult to ... er, injury.
Next time I go after a story, I'm leaving my boobs at home.[[In-content Ad]]