Eleven times I’ve ventured to the Emergency Room--or have been injured--in seventeen years. And those are the times I remember.

I am accident prone. I can’t walk without tripping over air. The ER is enlightened by my presence annually. However, two years went by without any accidents. A new record.

My intention wasn’t to injure myself on a yearly basis. I didn’t plan on falling out of a car and having my face break the fall. Or breaking my finger the night before homecoming. Or smacking my face into a metal bar on a playground causing my front tooth to chip. Or shoving a bead up my nose and having to go to the ER to get it removed when I was two years old...okay maybe that one was my fault.

I can’t help it. I can’t help if my elbow dislocates when playing with Socker Boppers. I can’t help it if my thumb fractures while sledding. And I can’t help it if someone shoves me off the monkey bars--causing my knees to brace the fall--and rocks get lodged in my knee.

When I was two years old, I just arrived home from a play date and when the person opened the car door, my foot got caught on the seat belt and I fell to the ground. Face first.

Breaking my finger, now that was fun. One day last October--the day of the homecoming football game--I was in Beaver Dam with my field hockey team. We had an away game at Wayland Academy. Fifteen minutes into the game, a girl on the opposing team drove the ball and it flew straight at my hand. I brushed it off at first, because getting hit doesn’t faze me anymore. But then I looked down at my hand. My finger went blue, swelled up, and didn’t look right. My first reaction wasn’t to cry, or freak out. Nope. I just looked at it, laughed, then called myself off the field. My coach came over to see what was wrong. I laughed and said “Hey Liz, my finger doesn’t look right.”

To go more in depth, all of these accidents could have been avoided, but that wouldn’t make a story. My relationship with the ER hasn’t rekindled yet this year, but I don’t want to jinx anything. I never know. That eleven could change into twelve faster than the temperature changes in Wisconsin. But if the annual trend stays true, the Emergency Room will be expecting me later this year. Oh joy.