My Impossible Girl

This is a true story, and it was something I entered for a Writing Contest.

The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places. Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms, 1929

I don’t remember much of that time in ’97, but I do remember when my doctor told me I couldn’t have children. The pins holding the bones of my shattered pelvis together would puncture my uterus as a child grew.

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I assure you, we’re open!

After lunch at work the other day, I escorting a a man in a wheelchair out of the building. During our trek, he was talking about the injury to his spine, but mentioned he could still walk “because I was an athlete and a Marine.” Since then, I’ve been marveling at how remarkable the human body is and especially what exercise does for someone.

Which makes me think of my hip. After the accident, my pelvis was shattered and reconstructed in a feat of orthopedic-magic. Seriously.  Today, my ex-rays bring a crowd of nurses and doctors, because they can’t believe the work they did inside me.  It’s like a museum in my pelvis.

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Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you

Hey.

Hey you.

Obstinance.

Stubbornness.

You need to get out.

No, really.  You need to bug off, and get out of here, now.

No, you can’t stay.  You cause me trouble at work, trouble with my clients, trouble with my family, trouble with Cohiba, even.  You bring out the worst in me.

Plus, Obstinance, you’re a bully. You choke up creativity and you stifle kindness. You completely abandon love and even responsibility.

While you did help after the accident, Tenacity and Determination and I could have done it without you.  Actually, come to think of it, we did do it without you – you just tripped over our feet from time to time.  If you hadn’t helped, I wouldn’t have cussed out my nurses. I wouldn’t have unlocked myself from the wheelchair and pulled myself back into bed (which was really dangerous, by the by). There’s a lot of stupid stuff I’ve done that I don’t like; I just did it because of you.

So, listen, it’s not me, it’s you, and it’s just not gonna work. Smell ya later.

(This break-up brought to you courtesy of the Daily prompt)