Monday, October 24, 2005


I've gotten a lot of email lately asking for a foot update. We are actually in a holding pattern on the 'ol foot these days. After the discovery that there were foreign bodies in my toe, I was rushed to a podiatrist. The podiatrist (after snickering politely at my cryptic explanation of injury on my medical form: "Sink shattered on foot.") became alarmed when she realized I had been given no antibiotics at the hospital. Apparently, having a germ-infested bathroom fixture shatter on your big toe presents quite the infection prospect. Who knew?

I was promptly rushed upstairs to have blood drawn, quartered, and tested to be sure that I hadn't acquired gangrene or some other violent infection. My next set of instructions were to a) not to fret about infection, and b) to stop walking on my foot. Neither of these options were really very practical at this juncture. I begged and pleaded not to have to spend the next few weeks with my unwieldy crutches. I cited general lack of coordination, propensity for unusual accidents, and high volume of rapidly moving youth in my life. I was quickly able to achieve compromise: one Really Foxy Walking Shoe. Complete with velcro strappage. I have come to love him and named him Jimmy.

Jimmy may not be much of a looker, but boy can I move in that thing! I can adjust the straps so that it doesn't hurt my boo boo and the shoe keeps me from bending my toe! It's fab. Really, really fab. It's also quite the fashion statement. Guess how many kids have noticed my shoe in 4 days? Six. Six kids out of forty have taken notice. So clearly, it must blend right in. That or kids just don't look down.

So there I am! There was too much swelling and risk of infection for the removal of the porcelain shards at the time, so I go back in a month. I am to be quiet and heal and not play tennis during that time. I really can't wait to have this OVER! I can't stand not exercising. My pants are all tight. If I'm a good girl and I wear my Jimmy, then I might get to have this Procedure over my Thanksgiving Break. Woo!

I give to you, the morbidly curious, a montage of my healing process:

Oh, and the legal-schmegal stuff? I still haven't heard boo from Bad Guy's insurance company despite my copious and friendly calls to them. My bills are over $1000 so far. I have a call in to a lawyer who was recommended to me by a friend. I'll let you know what happens there. (Dum, dum, DUM!) Mwah-ah-ah!

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