I broke my left pinkie toe on January 5th. I saw a doc about it today: Feb 1st.
Why the delay?
Because, it only hurt when I wore my shoes (size 7 and a half). I spent the last 20 something days wearing a pair of snow boots that I found at my parents house (about size 9) to walk outside, and slides (about size 9, also) at work. Which rarely caused any pain, and I decided not to see a doc just to tell me in his as-a-matter-of-fact voice, "Oh yes, it's broken, don't wear your shoes so it won't pinch it" like I'm not already doing it. So many people told me that I was crazy for not having seen a doc: so many except any of my family members including the sister who happens to be a doc, the mother who dropped bro's training machine on my toe (the reason why it's broken, we were trying to move it together), the brother whose training machine in question we (he, mom and I) were relocating because he wanted it to be in a warmer room.
24 hours after the a-huge-ass-iron-and-metal-dropped-on-my-toe happened, my poor pinkie was still swollen like something is alive inside. I asked sis if I should see a doc. "If it's going to make you feel better, sure," said the medically qualified. I asked mom if I should see a doc. "There's not much that they can do if it is in fact broken," said the injurer. I told bro that my toe is probably broken. The huge-ass-iron-and-metal owner said, "you shouldn't move around too much."
That's the kind of medical decisions we make at our household, and it suits me fine.
If doctors would actually put me out of the snow boots on my first visit to him and I could stride my way out of the clinic in my Stuart Weitzman pointed pin-heels like nothing happened, or give me something that would heal the bone at a magical speed, yes, I would go see a doc right on the spot. But I know they ain't gonna work miracles on a broken toe. What the hey, it's winter and snowing outside, the snow boots idea doesn't seem like a bad idea.
So I didn't go see a doc and I wasn't gonna. Until one night...
I woke up in the middle of the night wanting to pee, got up, took care of my business, rushed back to my boudoir to snuggle back into the warm blanket... or so I thought my plan was , if there ever was any plan for a midnight pee trip. Instead of in the warm, soft blanket feeling released and comfy, I found myself rolling on the floor swearing like I never swore before in my entire life. Apparently, I didn't walk around the bed far enough and kicked its corner with the very pinkie. I am glad my neighbors, if they heard me at all at 3 in the mo, don't understand English because what came out of my mouth wasn't very pretty for the next 2 minutes.
I knew he would still tell me nothing I didn't know before, but I felt like I should see him anyway after the same exact pain happens twice in four weeks on the same spot. But moreover, I felt that I owe it to my pinkie who hasn't done anything wrong but being her pinkie self the whole time. She was minding her own business when the hugh-ass-iron-and-metal dropped on her completely out of the left field. She was minding her own business when a wooden board of a bed corner knocked her out of conscious. I thought it would be nice to show her that I care. So I went to a doc today to hear him say nothing I didn't know already.
If anything, I actually need bigger socks now, too.
But I had a sense of relief in me as I left the clinic. Not in my pumps this time, yet. But what do you know, it was beginning to snow out.
Until next time,