I’ve lived a relatively injury-free life so far, and up until last week, I had only chipped one bone in my finger. Tuesday evening, I began to chase after William for something he was up to that he should not have been up to. Rather than taking my second stride forward, my left foot careened into a sturdy piece of furniture in the kitchen.
We have a learning tower for the kids next to the counter in the kitchen so that the kids can observe and help stir things, etc. That tower has long feet on it, though, and I have often clipped it as I shuffle clumsily about. This pain, however, was beyond any stubbed toe I’d had previously. Immediately afterward, I stomped the linoleum floor my heel and screamed my hatred for the tower.
The kids cried, so I assured Elora I was upset for hurting my foot and apologized for yelling. Bess suppressed a laugh at my idiotic behavior.
Later that night, my toe and foot bruised up in an unusual manner. A trip to the doctor revealed that I had broken the toe next to my pinky. I’m sure there is a name for this digit, but due to a lack of medical knowledge, I will simply call it Toe Four. Toe Four took one for the team, apparently, breaking the bone closest to the foot (the doctor said there are three bones per toe).
The remedy? Nothing. No cast, no tape. Walk to comfort. Take normal OTC meds if uncomfortable.
Healing time? Six weeks.
The good news is that I have a natural axe-murderer’s gait with Halloween only weeks away. I just need to find the appropriate costume to match.
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