Wednesday, May 28, 2008
I'm klutzy. Super klutzy. If there's a speck of dust to be tripped over, I'll find it...and trip over it. Seriously, I trip over everything. And I spill. Everything. Usually on myself. And of course, it all ends up on my shelf seeing as how the "girls" are a bit bigger than your average set of tits. Look up the word klutz in the dictionary and you're likely to see a picture of me staring back at you. Except on Wikipedia. I'm not there yet. What's up with that.

You'd think, after years of tripping, falling, banging, slamming, and crunching various parts of my anatomy, I'd be just a bit more careful as I move around in this big wide world. But no. I'm not. Not even close. And I proved it last night, shortly after dinner which was fabulous by the way - 1/2 pork loin chop with balsamic vinegar, rice, ginger glazed carrots and steamed green beans with garlic butter. Mmmmm. I digress. After cleaning up and before settling in to watch some television, I decided to have a gander at the plants on the balcony. Mom had said that the garden itself was growing...something...which means the balcony pots should be doing very well. I opened the screen door, stepped over with my right foot, lifted my left foot preparing to step down onto the chilly concrete. However, my progress onto the balcony was impeded by the door runners or whatever the hell those damn things are.

You see, I have big feet and they tend to get caught up in things...part of the reason I'm so clumsy. Apparently I didn't guage the distance properly and slammed the big toe on my left foot into the space between the two sides of one of the runners and then stumbled forward toward the railing. At the time I was worried I'd slam into the railing, it would jar loose and I'd go falling 18 stories onto the alley below. When the bolts didn't rip out of the concrete and I remained safely pressed up against the metal, I thanked my lucky stars that I was not free-falling to my death. And then it hit me...

And the pain was tremendous.

Now you all know me. I can handle the pain. Heck the "discomfort" I get when one of my cysts bursts makes me think childbirth would be a breeze in comparison. And I've been dealing with that since my early teens. This however...ouch. At first I had thought I had just hurt it as I do on a regular basis. However, that's usually on my right foot. We don't like to talk about my second to last toe on that foot....hideous. It's the one that always gets hurt. Not this time. I ventured a peak at the lead toe on the left. Didn't look too bad. A little damage to the nail. I can handle it, the pain will subside. And then I noticed it. A small trickle of red liquid emerging slowly from under the nail. Ick. I'm getting nauseous writing about it. Oh great, I thought, and headed inside to find a bandaid.

Mom was barricaded in the bathroom, fan on ('nuff said), and said I'd have to wait to get in there. Meanwhile, my toe continued to squirt out blood, plasma and platelets as I stumbled around the apartment. I eventually began to feel woozy (I don't deal well with my own blood and have come close to passing out on a few occasions - shut up - it's not that funny). Sitting down, kleenex plastered to my toe, I seriously started to feel faint. Mom finally came into my room, and giggled "What happened to you"? On the verge of tears, angry at my weakness when it comes to my own injuries, I mumbled what happened. I managed to crawl onto the floor, my foot on a chair before I threw up. Thankfully the feeling subsided before I lost my fabulous dinner (see above). The throbbing was tremendous but the bleeding had almost stopped. I started to feel a bit better until mom had a look at it. The colour under the nail was starting to "turn black" in her words and she thought I might lose the nail but should be fine. Well, the urge to vomit returned and I spent the rest of the evening (it was only 7ish) curled up in bed with my laptop, watching episodes from the first series of QI (I love Stephen Fry). You can visit YouTube to watch some clips.

The picture above was taken this morning but the colour doesn't do it justice. There's a big black spot where the blood coagulated right under the tip of the nail and the rest of the nail is pretty badly damaged from the shock of the impact. With the exception of the left hand edge, it's discoloured - a lovely purplish pink hue that is soooo not it's natural colour. The throbbing, thankfully, has stopped but it still hurts to walk on. And I can't put on socks or shoes so I get to wear flipflops to work and everyone will see how badly I need a pedicure. Yuck. I'll heal but it'll take a while. For info on where to send getwell gifts and donations, you can email me....


Red said...

About halfway through this post, my mouth opened and stayed that way until the end. I can actually feel my stomach turning a bit, alongside waves of sympathy pains.

Your poor toe! :(

Are your feet really that big?!? What size shoes do you wear?

Captain Karen said...

Well, they're not enormous but they are a bit big: I wear an American 9/9.5 or a UK 6.5/7 or a European 40/41...I think. That's nothing though: my step sister and her mother both wear an American 11/UK8 or 9/European 43/44. Them's some big feet.

Trump said...

I hate feet.
I feel a bit poorly now.
Please post a photo of your teeth, which are lovely, by means of an apology for the toe pic.

kelly said...

not often you get to use the word coagulate in your blog huh?...good for you

Heather said...

Oh, poor you! Our apartment balcony is the same way, and I've knocked my feet more times than I care to count. Yeouch!

Powered by Blogger.
Back to Top