Oops, I've done it again. (Don't tell the paparazzi.)
9:51 a.m. - 2006-06-25
Friday afternoon I was sitting on my mother's bed (yes, staying with the 'rents this weekend, but come Monday I am SO OUT OF HERE) putting on make-up. Which is pretty stupid in itself, considering that my mother has an awesome bathroom with great lighting, double sinks and a nice vanity. There's a huge mirror with a comfy little bench that lends itself perfectly to both easy and enjoyable make-up application, except that there is no fan or air vents in the room. So it gets pretty warm (read: sweltering) in there, and your foundation sometimes melts before you get to apply eyeshadow, which kind of defeats the purpose of the awesome bathroom altogether.
But I digress.
Anyway, I was sitting on the bed with one leg folded underneath me for about fifteen (more like thirty) minutes. I put the final touches on my lip gloss, and got up to get dressed.
I put my right foot down first, and then realized my left foot was all numb and tingly in that "asleep" kind of way. I twirled it around a couple times (while standing on the other leg), and then put it down to test whether it was ready to be walked on. The feeling wasn't completely back yet, but I figured that it would be fine.
You know where this is going, don't you?
I took a step forward, and my foot flipped completely over. Like, all of a sudden the left side of the top of my foot was on the bottom, and OWOWOWOWOW SEARING PAIN IT'S NOT NUMB ANYMORE. And I fell. Hard. On my foot. On the tile floor. I screamed. I screamed "GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING FUCK!" right in front of my mother, who despises all three of those words.
And then as I lay there, whimpering and sobbing, my mom and brother stood over me. First they asked if I was okay.
"NO I AM NOT OKAY, I JUST BROKE MY FOOT."
"Can you move it?"
"I don't know. I haven't tried to move it because it HURTS."
"Try to wiggle your toes."
I did, and they wiggled. It hurt like hell, but I could wiggle them.
"You're fine. It's not broken."
"It FEELS broken."
"If you can wiggle your toes it's not broken."
Then my brother said, "Dumbass. Didn't you know that your foot was asleep?"
And so I grabbed the gun out of my dad's nightstand and shot him in the foot.
We wrapped it in an Ace Bandage and put some ice on it, and I managed to hobble my way through the rest of the day.
The next morning, the top of my left foot was swollen nearly twice the size of the right one. And the swollen part was very red and hot to the touch. I wondered if maybe I had fractured it, but my family kept telling me that I was overreacting and that it was probably just sprained.
"I didn't know you can sprain the top of your foot."
"Well, maybe you just pulled something."
"Maybe I should go to the doctor?"
"All the doctor is going to do is put another Ace bandage on it and tell you to stay off it. Take some more Tylenol, you'll be fine. John played football when he had an injury MUCH worse than that."
So I decided not to go to the doctor. I hobbled around for a few more hours, and then Alan called. After describing it to him, he told me to go to the doctor. "We have insurance, just GO."
I got to the clinic at 12:02 PM. They'd closed at 12:00. So I went to the emergency room.
The doctor took one look at me and said it was a sprain, to wrap it in a bandage and stay off my feet for a couple of days.
I laughed at him. "I have an eight month old daughter. There's no way I can stay off my feet. Are you SURE it's just a sprain? I mean, look at the swelling."
He picked up my foot (I squealed) and examined it more closely.
"Oh. Well. Eet ees quite swollen, eesn't eet? Eet is red too. Maybe I should do X-ray?"
"Yeah, maybe. You're the doctor."
"We will do x-ray then. The swelling concerns me." (Funny, it didn't concern you when you just GLANCED IN MY GENERAL DIRECTION, asshole.)
Thankfully, nothing was broken. The final verdict was that the trauma caused an edema (adema? something) which is just swelling. And lots of bruising. And pain. I got a prescription for Tylenol with codeine (mmm...codeine), an Ace bandage, and some crutches.
I've never had to use crutches before. Two seconds on them was enough for me to know that I'm not going to be using them now, either. I'd just end up with a broken leg, because those suckers are hard to navigate. Plus, I'm clumsy enough on my own two feet. So I'm still hobbling around.
When I got back home, everyone wanted to know what the doctor had said. I told them, and was rewarded with some incredibly smug looks and "We TOLD you what they'd do!"
My response? "Yeah, well, stay the hell out of my pills."
Ali woke me up at 5:15 this morning wanting to nurse. I got her latched on and then went back to sleep.
At 5:30, I woke to her crying. Well, not so much crying as SCREAMING. Figuring that she was hungry and pissed of because I hadn't pulled my breast out fast enough, I reached over to pull her closer to me. She wasn't there.
Maybe I moved her to the other side without realizing it? I felt on the other side of the bed. No Ali. I turned on the light, and there she was, sprawled out on her back. On the FLOOR.
Luckily, there was a pillow there to cushion her fall, but STILL.
Looks like we're going to have to invest in those guard rails that attach to the bed.