Right Foot, Third Toe

I am pretty sure if I ever had to go through labor, I would have been a screamer. I don't do pain well. It's my biggest fear in life, actually. I am real wimp. Which is why I carried on like a real baby several week backs when I stubbed my toe on the gate JOSH LEFT STICKING OUT farther than the wall upstairs AGAIN. I moaned, groaned, heaved, deep breathed, and half-shouted from upstairs as I tried to power through the pain without saying my favorite bad word. It really, really hurt.

All Josh cared to shout from the kitchen was, "Are you gonna survive?" I could hear the mocking smile in his voice when he asked, "Are you bleeding?"

"NO!" I shouted. "You don't bleed when you break a bone!" And when I said it I didn't really believe it was broken - I just wanted to feel a little more oomph to his response is all. I went on about my upstairs business, limping around, gathering laundry, cringing at the painful sensations, getting a shower, gritting my teeth, getting dressed, hobbling back downstairs. When I got there, though, I was still feeling shooting, burning pains that felt like the skin was ripping off, which it wasn't. That should have been a clue. I put my foot up on the couch and Noah, my sweet Noah, ran to get me his Thomas the Train ice pack. I believe I've mentioned before how much he digs ice packs.

Anna, well, Anna eats them. Within minutes she took it from me for her gnawing purposes. Anyway, after about half an hour, my toe didn't hurt anymore and I was walking around just fine (read - walking around without crying). We chalked it up to a close call.

By that night, however, my toe had begun swelling and bruising from the top joint up. All the way around. Front, back, sides - all purple, brown, and gross looking. Josh finally believed, at that point, that I really hurt it. It stayed that way for days. I took pictures of it for your viewing pleasure, but they never turned out as ugly as my toe really looked. And I just couldn't post a pic that didn't do it justice. Plus, there was a lot going on that weekend with Noah's birthday, family in town, and Nashville's flooding. My toe seriously got overlooked in all the other fuss.

After a week maybe, the bruising went away, and that's been that. But it seems the toe is still tender to the touch at times. And now that I look at it, it's healed in a more bulbous shape than its counterpart on my left foot. It's got that shape and shine to it now that matches my dad's and Josh's broken fingers that healed on their own in a sort of hunchback shape.

So now I'm convinced I broke it. And I should have milked it then for what it was worth. Talk about a missed opportunity! It snapped my 31 year run of never having broken a bone! Well, except for breaking my collarbone when I born because my 10 pound 11 oz. frame couldn't fit through my poor momma's little body, but that's another story.

What matters here is that everyone knows I broke a toe and lived to tell about it! And that it was Josh's fault. And that it's time I got a little retro credit/sympathy for the pain and suffering I endured and the way I really manned up about it. Right? That's gotta count for a hearty foot massage or something.

Just go easy on the top phalange (real word, no joke) of the third toe on my right foot. (Seriously - phalange? Is anyone else laughing with me about that one? Throwback term to some old Friends episodes? Pheobe's favorite pseudonym? Anyone?)