June 24, 2017 – Broken Toe

        There is nothing like instantaneously being taken out of commission.  One minute you are fine - the next you are snarling “#$%@!”  and hopping around on one foot holding the other.

        It was a simple matter of stepping over Jack, our dog, who was sleeping in the hall which runs from the day room [TV/Kitchen] end of house through the dining room and formal living room to the bedrooms.

        I have just washed the inside and outside of the day room windows and have the lace curtains in the wash and intend on getting the second load of laundry started which is in the bedroom area.  With one foot, I step too close to Jack who isn’t sleeping but faking it and he half jumps up and growls and I instantly step extra wide with the other foot to avoid a canine nip and try to catch myself before I fall.  While catching myself I slam my moving foot – into the leg of the dining room table instead of falling head long first into the glass front china cabinet.

        “Crack.”

        I hear the sound of the broken toe before I even feel the pain. I was certain of the sound.  I’d heard that ‘crack’ once before when I was a kid on vacation in Lake Winnipesaukee, New Hampshire.

        Of course I gasped and I am clutching at the table cloth on the dining room table trying to right myself when I notice that all the assorted “junk” that I intend for a yard sale is starting to slide towards the floor.

        In order to stop the trajectory of the assorted yard sale minutia, I have to stand on both feet to stabilize myself; my broken toe is definitely confirmed by the ensuing pain.

        “I’ve just broke my toe.”  I announce loudly.

        “How do you know?”  My husband asks casually as he is watching the morning news.  He doesn’t move, doesn’t even turn his head.

        “I heard it crack. I broke my toes on vacation once as a kid,” I answer as I hobble to the refrigerator, grab one of those ice packs that you can mold around a body part, then hobble to a chair and fold it around my left foot to freeze the pain out of it.

        Now he is looking at me with disbelief thinking I am a super wimp.

        “You should have shoes on anyway.”   He claims noticing I am barefoot.

        “I kicked my muddy shoes off at the door.  Besides, I am always barefoot in the house.” 

Why am I explaining my bare-foot-ness to a man I have lived with for 40+ years?  He quickly escapes out the back door to mow the lawn or take out the trash or some such chore so that he doesn’t have to deal with my minor injury.

       

        Ticking through my brain is the rest of my “to-do” list.  I have the curtains to put back up when they come out of the dryer, I have the kitchen floor to wash now that I have moved all the furniture out in order to give it a serious scrub after all the rains and muddy feet.  I’ve . . . I’ve. . . . darn this thing hurts.  I pull off the freeze pack and inspect.  YUP – already turning black and blue.

        After the toe is frozen enough, I set up the floor washing so that I can sit on my bottom and scoot around on the floor.  I take out the curtains and put them in the dryer and I start the next load.   With my implements around me I scoot around on my butt like a land crab and get the kitchen floor and my lower cabinets washed cleaned to my satisfaction. [And doesn’t the telephone ring incessantly – “let it ring – let it ring” – I say out loud several times.]

        However, getting up off the floor is tricky.  No matter which foot I put up with a knee to raise myself up it hurts.  I try both ways, bad toe foot up with a knee – no; then I switch to the other foot up with a knee to get up and the broken toe foot down as the push off.   I had to get up – a major OUCH.   More ice pack. I won’t be getting down again I can tell you until my toe is healed.

        Hobbling with frozen toe I put the lace curtains on the rods and re-hang them.  I sit to re-freeze the toe and notice there seems to be something wrong with the curtains. ‘Where are the birds in the lace,’ I am wondering.  Sitting with my toe in the freeze pack again, I study the curtains for a time and notice that all three curtains are hung upside down.  Getting them down again I realize I’ve strung the lace curtains on the rods by their hems not by the top casing. When I am re-hanging them I find the tags at the top right back of every panel as they should be.  My husband comes in and sees I am okay.

        “You might need to know that the tag goes on the back side, upper right hand of each curtain.” I mention casually to him.

        “Why would I want to know that pray tell?” was his answer.

        I shake my head sadly as I can already imagine myself about 95 years old unable to “do for myself” giving direction to a young care giver about how to take down the lace curtains and how to hang them up properly again.  Add that to my theory on the proper way sheets should be put on a bed and I know I will be the most cantankerous elderly person in the county. 

What a frightful future to look forward to.