Lessons from my little toe

OK, I know I should have moved the queen-sized inflatable guest bed out of the hall and back into the closet where it lives. But I was just hurrying out of the bathroom (back to my computer - natch) when I hit the door jamb. Hard. Really hard. With the little toe of my left foot.

Ouch.

My husband, a physician, was unimpressed. "Give it 24 hours. It's probably just soft tissue damage. The emergency people would just tell you to take ibuprofen," he said cavalierly. I've heard his subversive medical motto: "FIfty percent of the patients will get better even if you do nothing!" The other half will get worse, I suppose. It was a chance I was willing to take for a day.

But 24 hours later -- 25.5 to be exact -- I pulled into the urgent care parking lot, had my toe x-rayed and found it was broken. Not once, but in TWO places. I felt vindicated and a little smug. I TOLD him I heard that toe crack!

I gloated only for a moment. Then I realized: omigod, I have a Broken Toe. I am leaving for the airport early Friday morning. The airport with looooong hard-surfaced hallways that lead to looooong airline tunnels that lead to narrow airline aisles. My toe and I are not enthused.

But this hobbling gait IS a way to slow me down a bit. I ran into that door full force. I was in a HURRY. As usual. And now. Well, now I'm not. I'm crabbing sideways a little: step, hump, step. It's maddening for someone who likes to get there, get it done, move on to the next thing...

So the lesson is: don't run into door jambs. No, that's not it. Well, that might be it partly. but mostly, it's: Sit down. Pet the dog. Talk to my husband (he apologized for his misdiagnosis). And take my ibuprofen every four hours.