Toe

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I’ve been without internet (and time) for the last few days. For a good reason this time. We’ve been moving into our condo.

Owning a place is nice. Even though our crawlspace flooded when our last spring snow melted, having the freedom to do whatever we want to our place is great. We’re ripping out the carpet and putting down hardwood laminate, and after that we’re going to paint the baby butt blue wall in the living room a nicer color (which means any color because the blue is the worst color possible.)

Even the flooding isn’t so bad. My husband called our HOA about getting us some downspouts on our gutters. At their expense. Not too bad. Should prevent future floods, which sounds pretty good to me.

My least favorite thing about our place is this one stair. One… evil… stair.

We had spiral loft stairs in our apartment, which were a little bit scary sometimes. But these stairs are just regular stairs. Normal, standard-sized, carpeted stairs.

Except this one…

The top stair coming down from our entry landing is shallower than the others. I noticed that right away. I saw it, remembered it, and compensated for it every time I went down the stairs.

But for some reason, last night, that damn stair got the better of me. My husband asked me to come help him rip out some carpet, and as I was going down the stairs I saw that stupid shallow step coming up. I thought, “Hey, that’s that shallow step. Watch out, woman.”

Then I slipped off the end of that shallow stair, fell on my ass, and slid down the staircase on my toe. ON MY TOE.

Like, my entire body was on my toe.

My husband was laughing at me, naturally, so at first I was just confused. Was it funny or not? Then came the pain. Horrible pain. I started wailing and told my husband I thought I’d broken my toe. He stopped laughing and came over to check it out.

We squeezed it, fiddled with it, and bent it. It popped and cracked.

My husband decided I’d dislocated it. Dislocated my TOE. What? I didn’t know that could happen. So he looked it up and yes, it’s a real thing.

He tried to call some urgent care places to see if I could get it looked at, but of course, it happened at 8:55pm and those joints close at 9. They said my only option was the ER. Which isn’t an option, because I don’t need to pay a doctor $1200 to tell me I dislocated my toe.

So my husband looked up how to put a toe back in its socket. And did it. Just popped that sucker back in there while I was crying and freaking out because there’s nothing more disgusting than feeling your toe bones popping around every time you bend it. It’s one of those things that makes me grimace just thinking about it.

I went to bed around 9:05, as soon as my toe was sorted out. My husband walked to his parents’ house to get me some painkillers and an ice pack since we hadn’t moved all that stuff from our apartment yet. One giant, quadruple dose ibuprofen and an ice pack later, I was feeling a little better. A little. Mostly because I fell asleep at about 9:45.

I kept waking up all night because I could hear my husband ripping out tack strips with a hammer. I felt like a lazy bum not helping. I wanted to rip out carpet. My stupid toe didn’t let me.

Long story short(er), I’ve been hobbling around in slipper socks since last night, trying not to re-injure my toe. I taught in slipper socks, accompanied my husband to the dump to dispose of our carpet in slipper socks, and swept up carpet dust and broken tack strips in slipper socks.

What have I learned from this?

Slipper socks are the greatest thing ever.

And I hate that stupid stair.

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