On Sunday, my mom, dad, my sister and her new husband stopped in for a visit to celebrate my belated birthday over brunch. As usual, the jokes were flying back and forth and the stupid one-liners dished out between courses brought tears to my eyes. Only your family can make you laugh so hard that you cry and for whatever reason, your family loves to see you in pain. The giggles and laughter that tickled my ribs came with a price because all that laughing really hurt. Bruised ribs are no laughing matter.
Since last Friday’s crash, it still hurts when I take a deep breath, cough or sneeze. I contemplated visiting a doctor for an x-ray to satisfy my curiosity: Is it cracked ribs or bruised ribs? But knowing the answer won’t help with the healing process. From what I’ve read on-line, bruised and/or cracked ribs can take weeks to heal. Resting and popping the occasional Tylenol when needed are my only options.
This morning, my 4 y.o. awoke crying from a bad dream. When my DH didn’t respond to her wails, I slumped out of bed to comfort her. When I picked her up, I felt a shooting pain in my ribs again, which meant another day of no running for me.
I can’t sit in certain positions and sometimes lying down hurts. The pain isn’t as bad as it was on Sunday when my family had me in stitches, but every day I wake up hopeful that I can run again and be ready for the triathlon on Saturday, however, at this point, it doesn’t look good.