Bad Day

Lately, even Oscar ain't got nothin' on me. I am a grouch indeed. The reason? The toes on my left foot haven't touched the ground in three weeks. They miss the cool of the tile, the textured bottom of the tub, and even the fiery concrete of a Phoenix summer. They all wiggle, three bend, two tingle, none are actually broke.

All of this is a result of my renowned ability to trip on flat surfaces. I am not sure what occurred other than one minute I was confident, excited for a night out and vertical, and the next I was horizontal and alone on the floor of my mother's garage.

There was really no good reason the first phone call I made lying on the cool, grey cement with my left leg hoisted high in the air was to my husband 2000 miles away. But I must admit, when I am in any manner of suffering, I feel it important he suffer too. During childbirth, I nearly choked him and left all manner of claw marks. When I stubbed my toe and lifted it off the nail bed, I felt it necessary to punch him (partly because he was the reason I stubbed it in the first place). So, between heaving sobs of "I think it's broke, I think it's broke..." Nathan tried to assess the situation.

Eighteen days later, and with much of my life on hold, we are still trying to assess the situation. The R.I.C.E. formula is not working. The entire foot is still swollen. It has turned all shades in the later half of a rainbow, and hurts. Bad. Three days ago I finally conceded and went to the doctor who is now currently assessing the situation. It's not broke, but the ligaments are a hot mess. Tomorrow the Orthopedic Surgeon weighs in with his assessment. I sure hope some one can come up with a solution soon. Vacuuming in the computer chair is not as fun as it sounds.