Iced Again

For those of you who do not know, I have very bad luck with ice. There was that time when I was 5 or so--I could have been 6 or 7, I don't really know--when I fell on the ice while sledding and could not walk on my leg because my knee wouldn't work. Then there was the time that I was running to the car because dad was driving us to school and we were late and I hit the tailgate we were using as as a makeshift bridge and my feet flew over my head. There was no lasting damage from that one, but I remember it. Then there was the ice-on-crutches incident outside of my class in college when I cracked my rib. Then there was the time that I fell down coming out of the Institute a mere couple weeks after I had gotten rid of my crutches and sprained an ankle, tore some ligaments in my thumb, and hurt my knee yet again. I sat in physical therapy with ice packs on every inch of me for almost 2 hours, completely embarrassed. AND finally, today: we took the boys sledding out in the yard--I pulled them around to every small hill we could find, basically. And then when we were heading back into the yard I hit a patch of ice in the driveway and was looking down at that when I was blasted off my feet by Plato, Kurt and Kat's moron-dog. It probably would have been fine had I not been on ice, but since I was both legs went out from under me. And it HURT! I was half-convinced I had hurt my trick-knee for real. After icing it and much time not on it, it feels half-way decent. It is still a little swollen, but that's par for the course.