A Minor Injury

This morning, as I was getting Little Z ready for her second visitation at preschool, and getting ready to go to work at my new job and plan some curriculum (awesome!) I stepped on something. Something sharp. In the bathroom!

So, my foot was bleeding and the bandaides were downstairs and I was upstairs and we were in such a rush and - well, I just patched it up and went on our merry way.

But it hurt. It felt like there was something in my heel.

About four hours later, I was trying to figure it out but I could barely wrap my foot around my body enough to see what was going on, and then Little Z was crawling on my shoulders. I started wondering if I should go see the doctor? Surely having something stuck in your foot was reason enough? But I felt like such a woose. It was probably just a splinter. I finally convinced Little Z to try and take a nap- if only for the sake of my foot- and then I started digging in some horrible way with a needle, right into my heel, and wouldn't you know it? THERE WAS A BIG PIECE OF GLASS IN MY FOOT! Which I pulled out with some tweezers.

So, I guess there was some cause for concern.

My foot feels much better without the piece of glass stuck in it. I have no idea how the glass happened to be on my bathroom floor.

I'm a little embarrassed about the lame nature of this post. Most of my creative energy is going towards my new job, about which I am very excited.

Little Z actually asked me about my foot when I went and got her from her nap. I was surprised. What's this? Empathy? Herra Gud.


  1. Yikes, dude. Broken glass freaks me out. More than any other disaster honestly. Should we happen to meet in person, you'll have to take a gander at my hands some day. I was walking along with a freshly baked pear-cranberry streusel pie in my very good deep dish pyrex pie dish. I tripped just below a few steps. Naturally I reached my hands out to break my fall. Into the shattered pie dish. I was outside my apartment building and in front of a neighbors front door bleeding profusely onto his stoop. I called my roommate to tell her to bring a roll of paper towels, a broom and garbage can. It took me several hours to dig all of the glass out of my hands. I looked like I had punched out two windows. I flash back to that memory every time i have to clean up broken glass.

    Glad you're okay!

  2. Ouch! Make sure that doesn't get infected.
    I just spent about 20 minutes catching up on all of your posts I missed this summer. I laughed, snorted and was inspired to kick my own butt into writing again soon. Also, Little Z makes me want to have children, my husband would thank you if he knew that.

  3. No worries- the foot is almost healed already. It just needed the glass taken out!

    Christina, I never wanted to have children either until, well, I did. Too many people just have kids without thinking much about it. Good for you for giving things proper consideration.

  4. Ow! How horrid. Clearly you and I are both of the 'if in doubt, dig at it with a big pin' school of first aid.

    When I was a barmaid in my late teens (this being the uk and all) I once shattered a warm pint glass in my hand by running it under the cold tap to cool it. I was thrilled to have got away with barely a scratch, but several hours later after my break I stood up and a ragged piece of glass three inches long dropped from my cleavage. I was hoping to get the nickname Miracle Tits, but it never caught on.

  5. Glory von Hathor, if we ever should become good friends, and if I ever should have the chance to introduce you, I shall say,

    "This is my good friend, Miracle Tits."