I am a klutz, plain and simple. I’m the type of person who could get wounded in a padded room filled with cotton balls. I can’t even count how many times I’ve been injured at work, and I’m just a seasonal retail employee. Mostly it’s because of something I did wrong, like trying to leap over a chained entry-way rather than just unchain it and walk through like a civilized person. My worst work related accident occurred when I was trying to push the huge camera case down the hall to the set. I got caught up on the rug in the mall and the whole case (which is about 4 feet tall and two feet wide) went flying over. I went with it. I sat dumbfounded for a good minute, until a nearby kiosk worked came to my rescue. Luckily, I only suffered a scraped knee and torn jeans from the whole fiasco. Well, aside from the damage to my pride, that is! The guy who came to my rescue still looks at me like he’s afraid I’m going to fall over at any moment, and this happened a good six years ago!

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I’ve also had my share of random injuries, although so far no broken bones! While most of my injuries are my own fault, I do remember an incident in a pizza place back when I was about 20 that wasn’t my fault. I slipped and fell in the dimly lit (with flickering lights) bathroom and whacked my head. I let them talk me into not filing an accident report (remember, I was only 20, and really naive) and they gave me my $5 meal for free. I often wondered if I should have filed a  personal injury compensation claim against them. I mean, I wacked my head, complete with a goose egg and blood, and all I got was an “oops, here’s a free slice of pizza.” I’m not saying I would have taken them to the cleaners or anything, but I don’t think they even said they were sorry. Of course, I later learned through lawyer friends and family that “sorry” is an admission of guilt, so you’ll never hear it from someone who is afraid you’ll sue them.

One major injury that I sustained wasn’t my fault at all, and I really think it was a case that I should have pursued. When my son was born via emergency c-section after I developed preeclampsia (which only got so severe because of a really bad doctor, but that’s a whole different story), I had an intern check my stitches. I don’t want to get into too much detail because it’s not pleasant, but basically, my incision wasn’t closing right. The intern couldn’t get the steristrips to stay on. He told me “oh, it’s fine, it’ll close on its own.” Since I didn’t go to four years of medical school (and this was before my nursing school days), I figured he was right. Well, two days later, things went very wrong (graphically and disgustingly wrong), and I spent the next six weeks getting my wound packed every day. It wasn’t pleasant, and it never would have happened if my incision was properly checked. I still think I should have at least gone after them for medical compensation, if not for pain and suffering, and a whole slew of other stuff. That incident is part of the reason I decided I was done after one child.

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