Day After Day

photo (8)

Close up…
photo (7)

Later that night:
photo (9)



photo (10)

Close up…

photo (11)



Close up…


(please note after two full days of icing and elevating, it is STILL so swollen)



Oh yeah…at my desk.

Close up…


Out of focus, but you get the gist.


I broke my toe. Or jammed it. It’s impossible to tell. It hurts, it’s swollen, it bruised up very nicely, and I can’t wear shoes (only flip flops don’t hurt). Thank goodness it’s summer.

I caught the edge of a cabinet in my bathroom on Friday morning. I assumed I stubbed it. I cursed, no doubt about it, and I saw stars when it happened, it really hurt, but I figured I’d be fine. I shook it off.

Then, I went to work and about six hours later as it was still throbbing, I glanced down and saw that it was bright purple (see photos 1 and 2). That was when I realized I really hurt it. I’ve had it elevated as much as possible. I taped it for work on Saturday. I ice it all the time. Yet, four days later it is still extremely swollen and bruised and painful. Superfun.

Also, my plumbing backed up and sewage from the toilet is now in my bathtub. Awesome. I couldn’t do anything this weekend (except gag from the smell) so a plumber is coming today and my awesome dad will meet them and get it fixed.

And how was YOUR weekend?


Making Do

About a week ago, I came home from work. I was still in incredible pain from re-hurting my foot and I gimped my way up those massive stairs. I changed my clothes, grabbed a book and a bottle of water and headed outside to bask in the sunshine. I had all this stuff bundled in my arms as I limped back down the stairs.

No sooner had my good foot hit the floor then I realized that I forgot one thing. I plastic baggie for ice to soothe my aching foot. I’d been icing daily after work (still am, actually) and I have ice in my downstairs freezer, but nothing to put it in. I actually turned and stared up those steep stairs, trying to determine how worth the pain it would be to get the baggie. I decided against it, I would just make do.

I contemplated just bringing the oversize bag of ice outside and using that. But I didn’t see the point of melting 5 lbs of ice for no reason. I tried to think of anything else I could use. A towel popped in my head, but I don’t keep those downstairs. Technically, I have fancy guest towels (thick, plush, not exactly for icing) in the basement bathroom, but that’s it. I’d just done a load of towels the week before so I didn’t even have any dirty ones in the laundry room…and yes, I considered that.

I realize that it would have just been simpler, and saved a great deal of time to just suck it up and go get the plastic baggie, but I was hurting and all about being stubborn.

Finally, I stared morosely into the freezer at the bag of ice that was doing me no good, realizing that I was going to have to give in, when something caught my eye.

Eureka! I had a brainstorm. I quickly grabbed the item in question and headed outside. Soon enough, I was sitting down, foot propped up and soothing cold seeping into my bones. As I stared down the length of my leg, I started to laugh. Was all that angst really worth the ghetto ice pack I came up with?

You tell me:

Aah! Frozen lemonade. A summer staple. (Thankfully, my mother hates icing and prefers heat, so she has given me a few freezer packs, which are now permanently stored in the lower freezer. So, this should be the last time I have to make do.)

Layla, You’ve Got Me on My Knees

On Sunday, my sister and husband brought my niece over for a swim. The also brought their friend Tarah, and Tarah’s daughter, Layla.

We were hanging out and having fun, then the little girls (Arionna is 16 months and Layla is 21 months) wanted to get out and walk around. I let the parents get out and chase the kiddos, I stayed in the pool. However, I was swimming along the edges, playing peek-a-boo and entertaining the girls.

Once I hit the deep end, I was playing catch with Layla and a beach ball. Suddenly, she decided she wanted to jump off the edge into the pool¬†for the first time in her life. We were all surprised, but none more than me, the one she jumped on. I caught her, but I was in the deep end. I couldn’t stay afloat. I ended up going under and sinking down, with my arms thrust straight upward, keeping Layla from going under. I hadn’t had a chance to take a breath and I didn’t have my arms free to help me, so I was wildly kicking with my feet,trying to force myself upward.

Somehow, I drifted over to the incline, where the pool starts to get shallower. My left foot struck out, and managed to slam into the concrete, right in the spot where I broke my foot last fall. Even underwater, tears sprang to my eyes. I gritted through the pain and used the bad foot to push off and get myself out of the water.

All three adults were watching this and laughing. None of them thought to grab the little girl from me to let me get free.

When I finally got out of the pool later, I could barely walk. I’m worried that I might have rebroken my foot–cause that’s all I need right now. I’ve been elevating and icing and I had a CMA wrap me up in an ACE bandage today. I can walk on it, but it hurts…lots.

I hope it’s not broken, but there isn’t anything that can be done. Last time, it was just the air cast–which I still have. If it gets any worse, I might, but right now, we’re seriously hoping for just a bone bruise. Are you all with me? Cross your fingers, cross your toes, but start meditating on the words “bone bruise”, with any luck our collective karma will keep me from having another six weeks in my Frankenstein boot.

At least Layla thought it was fun and is no longer afraid of jumping into the pool.


Only me. Truly. There are few things in this world that I do better than anyone else, klutzery is rapidly climbing the charts. So, I have the boot. The ginormous, absurd, over-the-top, excuse for a walking cast that I wear every day.

It is rigid, inflexible, massive, and, evidently, has a mind of its own. I was opening a cabinet in my library to get something. This cabinet is at eye level. There are drawers below it, extending to the floor. Somehow, when I approached, my boot was at the exact perfect angle to slide underneath the drawer portion of this furniture. I, of course, had no idea that the boot was doing this and simply went about my business retrieving something from the overhead cabinet. When I had finished, I shifted my weight to move away from the structure and found that…I…could…not…move.

My friggin’ boot was wedged beneath the bottom of the drawer and the floor. I couldn’t get it out. I didn’t know how it had gotten IN. I tried wiggling and finagling my foot around and got nowhere. The boot wouldn’t bend the way I needed it to and my foot was screaming in pain when I tried to move it any other way.

I was stuck.

Stuck underneath a drawer while standing upright.

How embarrassing.

If it hadn’t hurt so much, I would have toughed it out and just yanked, but I was worried I’d hurt my foot even more than it already is…so I did the only thing I could do. I pleaded my case before the students studying in the library. One of our Vet Tech students came over to me and lifted the bottom of the drawer upward just a fraction of an inch (it’s really heavy!) but it was enough for me to slide the stupid giant boot out from underneath.

And now, my foot is throbbing and I’m trying to decide what hurts more, my foot or my pride.

Only me. I’m just sayin’.