So last night, I had a performance.  Everything went very well.  At the evening's end, I was going down a flight of stairs -- not just stairs, but beautiful, old fashioned stairs.  The kind that are made out of solid oak slabs about 4 inches thick.  As I was daintily stepping down the steps, my left heel caught behind me, sending me on a forward tumble down a half dozen of these varnished wooden bricks.  I held fast to the railing, but let's face it, my upper body strength isn't super impressive and I could feel my little shin bones smacking against the steps, one after another.  Finally, the "fall of shame" concluded and my legs hurt.  Kind of bad.  Actually, kind of really bad.  With an "Oh, shoot" I thought of performing the next weeks, as the lame, lungless, singing wonder of the world.  Let's just say, I was not too excited about it.

I could move my ankles.  That was a good sign, right? My hosts ran down after hearing the clatter.  With bags of ice in tow, they helped me hobble to my room.  With my legs elevated and covered in cold they were soon WAY beyond feeling anything.  I said a prayer making the outlandish request that a) I would not have any broken bones, torn ligaments or fractures and b) that the bruising would be minimal.  I little pipe-dreamish and vain, I know, but I hoped that God could say no but wouldn't judge me for asking.  I was feeling pretty confident until I realized a half golf ball sized knob on the front of my shin:  It was a fracture.  It had to be.  I went on a mad search online:  What do fractures look like?  Tibia fracture, Shin fracture picture of, the list went on and on but docs must have made a deal with whomever is "the internet" because I had a darn hard time finding pictures of anything more than xrays.

Suddenly, a wave of fear and doubt washed over: I knew my legs were broken.  They had to be.  So in a last (somewhat pathetic) attempt to figure out how I could know if my leg was broken, I sent out this plea over -- gulp -- twitter.  Twitter, that I had begrudgingly started when the TEDMED people told me we had to.  Twitter, which I'd cast of as meaningless celeb drivel and self absorption.  Twitter, which I just thought was lame.  Until, the replies started pouring in: "What does the bruising look like? Is it irregular" "How painful is it and is it sharp pain?" "Can you walk on it? Can you move your feet?"  I responded to the inquiries, one by one and then they would reply: "Elevate it, take some advil and go to sleep." "The truth shall set you free.  Get an xray in the morning." So I elevated my legs and went to bed, still wracked with visions of black, blue and broken legs.  In the morning, I awoke and other than really minimal bruising, they look and feel fine.  I think that my Upstairs connections gave me this early Passover miracle (The Angel of Broken Bones passed over my legs) for which I am hugely grateful, I am also grateful for the people who took a minute or two to send me 140 characters x10 of very helpful advice.