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.

5 comments:

  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!

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  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.

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  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.

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  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.

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  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."

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