Thursday, April 25, 2013

If My Feet Were My Children, They Would Be Taken By Social Services.

You laugh now, but after this week, I'm fairly certain that title is accurate. First was last Saturday, a blow to my right foot (A is for April. B is for Bee.) and then there was Monday, to balance it out.

I was walking from the kitchen to my room. It is something I have done so many times that I can often do it with my eyes closed (I get bored.), but Monday night I slammed my toes into my mother's hope-chest, and I had my eyes open. As with all times when any foot is slammed into furniture, the foot's owner briefly considered amputation. I managed to limp to my room, preserving my dignity the best I could, by leaning heavily on silence and my right foot. I plopped onto my chair and became a little befuddled when I noticed a piece of plastic or tape stuck to my little left toe. I swung my foot onto my lap. That was no plastic. That was a lovely, thick slice of skin from my little left toe. ...Ow. I tried to see if it went down between my toes where the blood was, or if it was from the tip of the toe. I couldn't tell, so I limped to my mother to file a verbal injury claim. She inspected it, but was also at a loss as to which part of the toe the hanging skin was on. I went to the bathroom and sat on the floor with my equipment. Band-Aids? Check. Neosporin? Check. Why I didn't think to take a wet Q-tip and clean off the blood is beyond me. I rubbed the medicated cream on the side and top of the toe and applied Band-Aids to both parts. It throbbed terribly, but I'd survive.

As I had bandaged my wound I had started to feel warm. By the time I had gotten back to the kitchen to take care of the cat's litter box, I was having trouble seeing out of my right peripheral vision and felt unbearably hot. I also felt light headed. My mother said she'd finish my chores and told me to never become a doctor if this was how my body reacted. I managed to drift off, but I continued to frequently wake up and have trouble going back to sleep. About 2:30 a.m. I went to the bathroom and sat in front of the toilet, taking deep breaths. I didn't throw up, and once I was certain that I wouldn't, I went out to the garage and grabbed a Barf Buddy. I'm so glad that I had that foresight. Around half an hour later, I woke up and felt my mouth making more saliva than normal, a warning sign. I grabbed Barf Buddy and threw up then rushed to the bathroom and threw up some more. I waited awhile to see if I was done before I cleaned up and moved to the kitchen, where I sat at the table with a glass of water and faithful Barf Buddy. I texted my mother two words. "Threw up." A moment later she was there, despite the fact that I woke her at three thirty in the morning. She expressed concern and told me not to try going to work the next day. I was perfectly fine with that. My head was throbbing like nobody's business.

The next day I slept on and off, occasionally eating crackers and sipping on ginger ale soda, doing my best to ignore my aching head and throbbing foot. My mother thinks I had a 24 hour bug, but I'm thinking migraine, triggered by extreme toe damage. Alright, maybe not extreme, but painful. Considering the temporary loss of peripheral vision, which is one of my warning signals for a migraine, and the fact that at no point did I have a temperature, my theory is looking pretty good.

 I have since learned that the loss of skin was at the end of my toe and that the blood on the side was just the blood that had flowed out of the wound. It is perfectly fine, just like the bottom of my right foot. After this week, one question really needs to be brought up. Should I keep on at least socks, shoes if I'm out of the house, since I seem to be a bit accident prone recently? The answer is probably yes, but I probably won't. I am the fairy child. If the weather is nice and I'm not going in public, there is no way I will be shod.

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