I was cheering at a high school basketball game when I broke it, my finger.  I crushed it under my hand doing a backhand spring while trying to impress my point guard boyfriend. When I heard it pop, I could barely believe it.  I mean, somersaults were my specialty.  I’d been doing them daily since I was 8 years old.  After seeing me stand on my head day, after day, after day, watching reruns of Mork and Mindy, my mom decided her third grader’s time would be better spent in gymnastics class.

It was.

I freaked when I landed my somersault and saw my right ring finger hanging from my hand. I searched the stands for my mom.  And when I spotted her, I told her I needed an x-ray, STAT.  She agreed.  And neither of us were surprised when the ER doctor said my finger was fractured.

For the next 4 weeks, I was in so much pain, I could barely sleep, eat, or drink. My damaged digit was so swollen, bruised, and busted I couldn’t write, hold a fork, or carry a backpack.  And one time, when I dropped my fractured finger below my heart, the throbbing was so intense, I fainted. 

And I’m not a fainter.

Well, maybe I’m a fainter.

I was 12 years old the first time I fainted.  I slammed my head on concrete so hard when I passed out, I gave myself a concussion.  That whole episode really freaked out my parents.  And that’s such a bonus when you’re a preteen.  So, in the name of full blog disclosure, I’ve actually fainted twice in my life. 

Does that make me a fainter?  Discuss amongst yourselves.

While I may or may not be a fainter, I know I’m not a whiner.  I’ve had a few other experiences with physical pain in my life to compare the pain of my broken finger to, such as severe food poisoning, child birth and a kidney stone. 

That kidney stone was no joke, either.  I was 6 months pregnant with Reichen when that pesky pebble covered in spikes took its sweet time meandering its way down a tube inside me the size of a human hair.  I was in the hospital for two days waiting for that bad boy to pass.  It was brutal.

I.  Know.  Pain.

So trust me when I say, I would rather break my finger, have food poisoning, pass a kidney stone, and give birth all in the same day rather than sell our home.  Having our house on the market has been the most painful thing I’ve ever done.

For example, last week, a realtor called and asked if she could show our house from 8:00am - 10:30am.  I said yes.  I got the boys up early, packed them in the car and took them to the gym to hang out while I worked out. 

No big deal.

At 10:00am, the realtor called and said they were running late.  Could she bring her buyers over between 10:30am and 1:00pm.  I said yes.  I picked the boys up from the gym daycare, popped them in the car, and we went to the mall to play and eat lunch.

No big deal.

At 12:30pm, the realtor called and said their car broke down.  Could she bring her buyers over between 1:30pm and 3:30pm?  I freaked.  I told her I’ve had two toddlers out of the house since 7:30am.  Both of them still take naps and they needed one.  Bad. 

She was so annoyed with me. 

Big.  Deal.

She said she could give my boys one hour to nap, but if I wanted to show my house, that’s all the time she could give me since her buyers were on a schedule. 

Oh, really?  The one where she was supposed to be at my house at 8:00 in the morning, not 3:00 in the afternoon?  That schedule? 

I said yes.

My boys usually nap for a couple hours every afternoon.  That afternoon, I woke them up after one hour, packed them up, and drove them to the park to play. 

The realtor was supposed to show our house from 3:30 pm – 4:30 pm.   At 4:00 pm, the realtor called and said she now needed until 5:00 pm. 

Seriously?

Seriously.

Normally, I would have shut this whole fiasco down.  Under usual circumstances, there’s no way I would have let this realtor push me and my boys around like she did.

But we have not had a showing in weeks. 

Did you know a house in our price range, in our area, sits on the market on average for 20 months?  20 months!  So when we get a showing, we have to take it.  So guess what?

I said yes.

And after all of that, we get feedback at 6:00pm from the realtor saying her buyers didn’t like our back yard.

And that was that.

So, you ask, would you really rather break a finger than sell a house? 

Yes.

Yes, I would.