Pride Goeth....

As a speech pathology graduate student, I am required to complete a variety of clinical rotations in order to fulfill the requirements of my program. These are some of my favorite "classes."

This semester I was placed at Clarian Arnett (yes! The brand new hospital!) where I do feeding, swallowing, and NICU assessments. I've never had any classes in these subjects and was one of four 1st years students placed in this location. (It's kind of like expecting a baby to grocery shop- I am so clueless I don't even know what I'm clueless about.)

Any way, my first day was Tuesday. It went well. I wore a lab coat. I carried a clip board. Some patient likened us speech therapy students to Dr. House's entourage. (In a hospital, if you wear a white coat- you're a doctor. I can deal with that.)

I answered questions correctly. I wore heals for 5 hours without pain. I looked like I knew what was going on. I looked good.

Promptly at 12:50, full of confidence, poise and certainty, I exited the elevator to return to my car. Trying to look brisk and professional, while at the same time cute (and flattering myself that I succeeded in my goal) I started briskly up the curving staircase in the main atrium. There are probably a hundred plus people eating their lunch. A hundred plus people to see my demise.

Halfway up the stairway, my heel slid one direction, my ankle went the opposite. Trying to stabilize myself, I flailed my arms, lab coat waving. It did no good. My knee gave out, my clip board came clattering the the ground, and I fell into a partial crawl position. (Envision caveman posture.) Scrambling, trying to right myself, my foot fell down a step and the other one shot out to the right. (Envision splayed, human kite.) Grappling for my clip board and self-respect, I bashed my knee, grabbed the clipboard, slipped a couple more steps.

Then stood up.

Calmly brushed myself off, and proceeded up the rest of the stairs, convinced that all one hundred plus people sitting below had witnessed my rather loud, hilarious, and humiliating scramble for control on the stairs.

Next time I'm suffering from an inflated ego, I'm not going to climb stairs.

This bruise on my knee is very purple...