So for anyone who has ever broken or fractured or even sprained a toe, you know what everyone else apparently knows which is if you go to a doctor or hospital or clinic or emergency room, "There really isn't anything they can do for you but wrap it and give you a boot, crutches and pain pills." Well, when you are in pain, that sounds like a heck of a lot to me.
I have actually fractured this toe before. In college, a grad student who, I promise you was from another country, was heading toward me on his bike. I was on my bike and naturally moved to the right. He moved right. 50 yards. I moved left. He moved left. 25 yards. At this point, he is crossing and I am approaching an intersection and I resolve to play his game of crazy chicken. So we, wouldn't you know it, bump front tires right in the middle of the intersection.
We hadn't been going that fast, but my feet, shodden in sneakers, were dragging on the ground to aid in a graceful stop. The sudden jarring resulting from the bike tires bumping traveled right down to my very toes. And every single other one of my toes was fine. But one. That small one. The little piggy that cried "Wee, wee, wee" all the way home. On the left foot to be precise. He apologized (the grad student, not the toe, that would be unnecessary and not to mention impossible). I apologized. We moved away from the intersection and I realized that I could not put any pressure on my left foot. He offered to help, I of course believed that he had done enough. I remember, at least I believe I called Stephen who was on the 12th floor in our apartment and either he came out and helped me up or the grad student helped me to the building and I met Stephen at the elevators. In any case, I was back in the apartment, crying, nearly inconsolable and insisted that Stephen not dare touch my shoe. It hurt you know.
He gently convinced me that he needed to see what was wrong. So the shoe carefully came off. I recall as the sock was peeled back it was as if the mere air of the room fueled a fire beneath my skin. The tears that had been placated once more poured forth and I gave him the evil eye knowing that he wanted to actually touch my foot. We did both agree that I needed to go to the student health center. He couldn't carry me, and oh how I wished we could do a weight transfer and get all my excess pounds onto him just once and I could be like all those movie stars who get picked up by the leading guys that weight closer to 100 lbs than 130 and so forth. But, with my arm around his strong shoulders, he supported me during what must have been a 20 to 30 minute trek.
We had to get to the elevator. Go down 12 flights. Walk across the parking lot to the street. Go down, what, three or four blocks, until we made it, thank God Almighty, to the health center. I was quite calmed down by then. That is of course until I was examined. Don't you know they had to touch my foot to see where it hurt? Oh and once the nurse or doctor, whomever the torturer who was "just doing their job" was, found out the source of the pain, oh! Then there was a barrage of questions combined with actions that nearly made me want to black out. "Does this hurt?" My toe, held between their thumb and forefinger, didn't even have to be moved any which-a-way for the answer to have been a resounding yes. But yet and still, my toe and foot were poked and prodded before it was ascertained that I may have broken the toe. I was encouraged to see the podiatrist on campus and told to ice, elevate, and stay off of it as much as possible.
This was in 2005 I believe before Japan. Currently, my toe is aching, thankfully not nearly as much as that initial time. This time around, there was no accident, or incident really. I simply noticed the pain Sunday evening. For several days in a row I had been biking from one side of town to another running errands and getting to and from work. I suppose the fracture may have occurred at any time the past few days but I just hadn't slowed down enough to feel it until Sunday. When the pain hadn't gone away Monday after pain pills and a night over an ice pack, I was concerned. I knew that pain. It was familiar, like a melody I had heard once before. As soon as I placed it, tracing it back to that bike incident and the two weeks on crutches and having to keep my foot wrapped and elevated and not being able to move around much outside of class and the bathroom...it all sort of came back to me. Not in a flash, or a flood. Not even a flash flood. Just memories really that trickled back into my conscious.
Back then, I had Stephen to help bring me food, or tell me it would be okay, to take me to my appointments and give me support every way he knew how. Now, I am in a new town with no family. As much as I can call my mom, its not the same as a hug. No one here is going to, "Aw, poor baby" me. My friends are going to apologize out of sentiment and hope I get better. I did find someone to lend me some crutches and that same person's mother hung out with me and let me spend the night at her house. It was nice to be in a chair with actual pillows propping up my foot instead of my towel, a throw, a scarf, and one of the thin pillows I dumpster dived for (I promise you it was on the top of the pile and was washed twice). I very much enjoyed sleeping in a bed. My roommate contacted a friend who is currently in med school and he poked at my foot to help assess where and how much it hurt. A big thing for him because he doesn't like to touch or be touched. He also drove me around looking for the medical supplies place to find the boot and bandages. He even talked with me on the ride home, cracking a few jokes, to help keep me from crying from the pain.
This time around, the experience was very different, but I am thankful that someone was there. More than just my mother. I honestly would have liked to contact my husband but...well. Yeah. Now, I am dealing with the fact that I actually can't take the time off I need to heal because I need the money. So I will be going to work and in fact taking on more hours at State Farm doing the telephone surveys so that I can make up for all the hours that have been lost this month. Its the adult thing to do. I have to be careful, not because of my foot, but because the extra hours and stress may send me back to the loony bin. Its a fine line I must limp now, but limp it I must. I refuse to allow the normal ups and downs in life to send me spiraling into insanity or swallowing depression. I have to hold on to the notion, the idea, the hope...that I can live a successful life. I am damaged, like everyone else, and not so much like others. But never let it be said that I didn't try my best.
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