– Time For A Tiara: Column by Ginna Young – - Is it supposed to bend that way?

– Time For A Tiara: Column by Ginna Young –

When I was little, I had a rubber bendable pink bunny in a suit, holding onto a carrot. You could twist him all around, tie him in a knot, then straighten him back out and he was none the worse for wear.

Toes, however, are not meant to do that.

I found that out the hard way, when I fractured the little toe on my right foot. It was very harrowing how it happened. I was saving a van full of puppies from some bad characters and suffered the consequences.

What did they look like? They looked mean and ugly, like a piece of household furniture that you’ve walked by a million times, unscathed, until it decided one night, to attack you. That’s what they looked like, alright!

After said incident happened and I began speaking English again, instead of alien gibberish, I looked down and realized something wasn’t quite right. I knew instantly that this wasn’t just a stubbed toe.

How did I know? Well, for one thing, my toe now was bent to the right.

After a few groans, on account of my weak stomach for things such as that, I screwed up my courage and tried to coax the toe back into position, but it had other ideas. Instead of pointing straight, like it had just a few minutes before I... ahem...saved the puppies, it kind of spun like a pinwheel in a breeze, before just hanging limply.

Again, my stomach did some flops and I had to take some calming breaths, to keep the contents of my stomach down. OK, it was obvious, there was only one thing to do.

I turned to Google. What do you do for a broken little toe? The response, without so much saying, what do you think, idiot, proclaimed that if the toe was bent at an angle, I needed to seek professional medical attention. Darn, I was afraid of that.

It’s been probably 10 years, since I’ve been to a doctor, because I don’t like going to them. Not that I don’t admire their profession and am grateful for the times they’ve saved lives of those I care deeply for, but it’s always the same with me.

If I have a sore throat. It’s because you’re fat. If I have a gash on my hand from closing the front door on it. It’s because you’re fat. If I was sitting at my desk in the office on Main Street, typing away (like I am now) and a semi came careening down the street, jumped the curb and came hurtling into the building, thereby running me over. It’s because you’re fat.

So, with a lot of trepidation (I really do like that word), I calmly prepared to go and gathered the essentials, meaning a book and water bottle. I also made sure I had my sweater, because emergency rooms are usually very chilly, but I needn’t have bothered. The fires of Mount Doom were probably cooler than that emergency room.

Anyway, I knew I had to drive myself, because my bestie was packing for a wedding in Texas, leaving at 6 a.m., the next morning, so I felt like I couldn’t ask her to drive me. Maybe I could use my left foot for the pedals?

I attempted to put on my flip-flops, but my right foot stubbornly refused to go in one. The pain was so intense, I almost thought I was going to black out, so I abandoned that idea and although I know it’s not sanitary to go barefoot, especially in a hospital, that’s what I did. Well, half barefoot, anyway.

I painstakingly and painfully hobbled out to the car, got in, carefully started the car, put it in reverse and realized I don’t use the pressure of my whole foot, just my big toe.

OK, I could do this then. I continued down the drive for like a foot (no pun intended – this time) and stopped. It suddenly dawned on me, I didn’t know where to go.

Before, I always went to St. Joe’s, but since they closed, what was the next option? I decided on Bloomer, which I’m glad I did, they were (almost) all very sweet, and started out on my journey, wincing every now and then, if I forgot and tried to flex my right foot.

It seemed like it took forever to get there, probably because I was worried about potentially having a cast on my foot and how I would manage to do everything coming up on my schedule. One step (again, not intended) at a time, I kept telling myself.

Easier said than done! Once I pulled up to the emergency room, I was pleasantly surprised to see no cars in the parking lot. I figured on a long wait, because, let’s face it and rightly so, a toe is not as important as someone having chest pains or a child who is turning blue from coughing.

It seemed a lot more painful going into the emergency entrance than it had going down my steps and out to the car at home – you know, where I rescued the puppies from the bad guys – but I finally got inside. There was one guy standing out in his yard across the street from the hospital and I could feel his eyes on me the whole time.

Buddy, it should be obvious, from my occasional gasping moans, lack of shoe on my right foot and the slow, limpy gate, that I probably had broken something.

But, I digress. Once inside, I had to basically recount my entire life to the registrar, since they didn’t have me on file and before she even had the information bracelet attached to my wrist, the nurse was waiting to take me back to an exam room.

They asked a couple questions, felt my foot and said they’d take me for an x-ray. I knew how long that would take, so I opened my book and... they were there. The technician insisted I get in a wheelchair, which made me feel bad, because I was capable of (slowly) walking the long way.

She said I had to, that they don’t allow barefoot people in the hospital. Yeah, yeah, I already mentioned it’s unsanitary.

I think the worst part of everything was those x-rays. The first couple were fine, stretch my leg out, with the foot extended, put my foot flat, no big deal. Then, she had me turn my foot on its side, put a plastic band around the other four toes who were “in the way” and hold the other toes away from the one.

Talk about painful! When I’m truly in pain, my eyes get really big and I make kind of a growling noise. We had to take three shots of that position, because they weren’t turning out, so there was a lot of big-eyed growling. “You look like you’re in more pain than you were.”

No, really? So, back to the room I went and I figured I’d be there for at least an hour before anybody even looked at the x-rays, but I read half a page and here came the doctor. She confirmed it was a fracture, not a break, and instead of running horizontally, it ran vertically.

Because of that, there was nothing they could do, other than giving me a comfy shoe so I could walk easier and without contaminating any floors with my bare foot (I can still feel the scathing glares from that x-ray technician). They also gave me the advice to ice it periodically, elevate it and take an anti-inflammatory over-the-counter medication.

I declined that, much to their chagrin, because they’d tried to ply me with Tylenol or Ibuprofen the moment I walked in. I don’t like taking any kind of drug, it doesn’t make me feel good and those never relieved any pain for me, which is what they were worried about, that I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I informed them I’m used to sleeping in pain.

That raised some eyebrows. I guess I should have clarified, that with my torn knee I never repaired, I haven’t had a painless night since I injured it when I was 16. If you’ve never had a torn meniscus, count yourself lucky!

They said my toe could take up to six weeks to heal, but that it shouldn’t impede my normal activities. I could even take a walk, if I felt like it.

Oh, sure, shouldn’t impede me covering golf meets, softball and baseball games, and all the other things I do, up, down and all around, for miles on my feet, on uneven ground. Not at all.

I just smiled weakly and repeated, “Yep, a walk.”

Anyhow, I left the hospital, went home and got cleaned up, then iced my foot, while laying in bed and it started to feel better, but my toe was so stiff, so, although I knew it probably wasn’t something I should do, I wiggled my toe around and it really felt better then.

It didn’t disturb my sleep, but I did have to go to the bathroom once during the night, and it really hurt to walk. However, in the morning, it felt so much better. I have yet to try to put a normal shoe on, so we’ll see how that goes, because there’s no way I can cover some of the things I do with that “walking” shoe. It’s just not feasible. I guess all I can do is put my best foot forward (I did that one on purpose).

Since this is my busiest time of year, this came at the worst possible moment, but, although I might move a little slower, I’m going to keep plugging away at what I do. There is one thing that really ticks me off, though.

Because my injury happened at home while saving the puppies from the bad guys, I can’t even sue anyone!