I Hate My Left Foot

I think I hate my left foot.  

I bet you're wondering "How can you hate your foot?"

Well, I don't know exactly, but I think I do.  I mean, it's the only explanation for the abuse I've put it through in the past.

Last week, I was getting into the bathtub.  I was looking forward to a lovely, warm bath, tired from my day.  I put my right foot in, then lifted my left foot, and went to place it into the tub when,

WHAM!

I bashed my little toe on the edge of the tub, hard.  Like, wow, I heard it pop and crack hard.  I sat there in the tub for a moment, trying not to cry.  I called up Jeff and told him what I did.  He was, needless to say, incredulous.  Neither of us could figure out how I did this.  Just the baby toe.  No where else on the foot.  And man, did it swell fast!  The toe itself doubled in size in about five minutes, and then the swelling moved across the base of my other toes.  

So.  I finished my bath.  I was in it, might as well get cleaned up.  

As I went to get out of the tub, I knew I wouldn't be able to put much pressure on the side of my foot that I damaged, but I didn't realize I wouldn't be able to walk at all!  I put pressure on my heel and it pulled on the tendons in the rest of the foot, bringing shooting pain to the toe I just, most likely, broke.  

I was angry.  I had plans for the next day!  I wanted to get some Christmas shopping done!  I couldn't even get a boot on the next day.  I could barely get up and down the stairs, forget getting the laundry done.  I did do a bit of baking and cleaning, but I wasn't really happy with my plans being wrecked by a useless baby toe!

We were joking about it because I get the most ridiculous injuries.  Because of past injuries to this foot, I happened to have a pair of crutches in my closet.  I never, in a million years, thought I would need crutches for a baby toe.  How ridiculous is this??

I bet you're asking why I had crutches in my closet.  

Oh, those are from last year, when I fell down the basement stairs trying to walk over the cat food my then two year old dumped all over the bottom of the stairs.  Somehow, when I was falling down, I managed to take my left foot, fold it under my body and land on it, spraining it and winding up on crutches for about four or five days.  The best part?  I had fallen while putting up Christmas decorations and had a MASSIVE bruise down the right side arm, on the back.  I was pretty wrecked.  The nurse at the hospital made sure to ask me if I had not had a black out or something.  Nope.  I remembered all of the ways I injured myself.  And my husband was in Fort McMurray when I fell the first time.  So, it wasn't him.   

About 12 years ago, I was in the shower at an old apartment, getting ready for work.  I'm still, to this day, not sure how it happened, but I found myself on the bottom of the tub with a very sore elbow.  When I brought my feet in front of me, I saw a football sized left foot.  Jeff, again, came into the bathroom to see what happened.  Turns out, when I was falling, I had again, folded that leg under me, my middle toes going under the covered drain.  I broke the toe in the middle.  It was split at the top like a fork.  

Because of the swelling in my foot, Jeff insisted on taking me to the hospital.  I said no at first, because I mean, it's a toe.  I was told my whole life that they will do nothing for a broken toe.  I was already humiliated, I didn't want to further it.  In the end, he won.  First, because we were new, we went to the Edmonton General Hospital, thinking that was closest, so it made sense.  We were wrong.  By that time, it was now a long term care facility.  So...a bit more humiliation.  We went across the river to the University of Alberta Hospital.  They took me into the triage, where I was placed across from a computer screen of a man's head that had been crushed in.  Another lady beside me had poked her hand with an epi pen and her thumb was now dying.  I felt pretty stupid at this point.

The hospital treated me wonderfully.  Because of the swelling, they took me to x-ray.  Turns out the break was worse than we thought.  I wound up with a half cast, that went from the end of my toes, all the way up the back of my calf, then bound up with a tensor bandage.  At least, I could bathe easily.  Off it for ten days, with crutches.  Awesome.  So much fun explaining that one.

I didn't realize how much this ridiculous baby toe affects my life.  Seriously.  I can walk pretty much perfectly when I'm at home, but the second I need to put a boot or shoe on my foot, and that's it.  I'm limping again.  It's stupid.  I'm into the second week of this and I'm tired of it.  I'm scared of my winter boots!!  I tape it, and that helps, but it's a pain in the ass to tape too.  I'm fairly sure I should just cut this foot off and start new or something.  

I have many other stupid injury stories.  A lot of them do with me falling down the stairs, slipping on the ice, (that happened last month) and other silly ways of hurting myself.

I joke about it a lot because, frankly, I'm just a klutz apparently.  

One day, I want a cool injury.

Last winter, Jeff took me skiing for the first time.  I almost wished I'd break a leg or arm or something.  Then at least I could be like "Yeah, I was rushing down the hill, and suddenly, I caught the edge of my ski and I just blew it!"  That would be a lot cooler at least.  

I'm not, by any means, saying I WANT to be in jured or WANT a broken arm or leg.  I'd rather have a better story than "I was just getting into the bathtub and WHAM, I bashed JUST that toe!" And then have people look at me like "Oh...okay".  

I played football, I've skied, biked, hiked, done lots of things where I could have had a better injury story.  In football, my "injuries" were my knees because I was stupid and instead of taking it easier, I threw myself into it, much to my body's chagrin.  It took nearly 2 months before I could walk without pain again.  But it was really worth it.  My big football injury was a concussion I got.  That was my fault.  I stood up, full height and just got mowed down.  Concussions + children makes for a tough weekend, let me tell you!  

My husband is a walking scar.  But at least his scars have stories!  I've picked him up on mountains, bleeding.  I've taken him to the Medicenter because he dropped a clothes drier on his toes.  That was a wicked injury.  His silliest injury was when he broke his ankle after drinking and finding a gopher hole with his foot.  I laughed at him for that one.  

I'm not saying I'm an adrenaline junkie, I'm not saying I admire the "Jackass" guys or anything like that.  But I'm saying that one time, I'd like one injury where I can say "OH man...you should have seen it!!"  

Is this weird?