So. Last night was fun!
Since I didn't think the foot thing was going to be a big deal, I kind of abbreviated the story yesterday. The point of the post was supposed to be my MacGyver-like (tm Lauren) approach to first aid, not the actual injury. But now, the rest of the story (tm Paul Harvey)...
I actually injured my foot yesterday morning. I got in the car and didn't open the door quite far enough, and the door swung back just as I was pulling my left foot in. It hurt. A lot. But then it seemed to feel okay. And since I was determined to make yesterday Not Suck Like Monday Sucked, I ignored it. I drove to work and used the clutch with my left foot just fine. High heels too, because I'm a trooper who does not like frumpy shoes.
(Further proof of my troopdom: Chris noticed I was limping at lunch. I didn't even realize I was limping, so this is pretty funny to me. It also proves that I am not always the huge baby about pain I became later in the evening.)
Anyway. NTB, the No-Tire-having Bastards (tm Chris) called me in the afternoon to let me know that they weren't able to "track down" the tires I'd requested after all. Ah, yes, the elusive BF Goodwrench Traction TAs...running wild and free out in their natural habitat. Whatever. I got a ride to pick up my car and again drove to the office just fine. A couple hours later, I got back in the car to drive home.
This time? It was instantaneous AND unavoidable. My foot hurt like HELL every time I had to shift. I must have stayed in second gear for about 75% of the drive. By the time I got home I was REALLY limping and could barely make it up the stairs.
And that's where we originally came in, with my foot in the wine chiller thing.
Jason got home and laughed at me and made me a more presentable ice pack. But the pain kept getting worse. I COULD NOT stand on it. There really wasn't a lot of visible bruising or swelling, but obviously something was wrong. Jason gave my foot a thorough exam to find exactly where the pain was (which I think he enjoyed a bit too much), and that's when we determined it was probably the tendon. There were about four specific points of pain but about forty different movements that caused the pain.
The ice did not help. I tried crawling around but something that hurt seemed to be connected to my knee, so that didn't work. The stiffest medication we had was Tylenol. (Maybe God is waiting for us to get some damn medical supplies before he entrusts us with a child?) And the kiss of death: WebMD and random Google searches. It didn't seem like bruised tendons were very common for that part of the foot, but breaks in the little skinny bones were. It was also possible that while the door slamming put enough stress on the foot to break it, it might not have actually broken until hours later since I didn't stay off it.
Jason was not happy about it, but at midnight I insisted on being taken to the hospital. There was no way I could sleep with the pain, plus the ER would not yet be full of the morning's rush hour injuries, fatalities and crazy people who wanted a free breakfast. So we went. (Getting down the three flights of stairs was REALLY fun...I nearly killed us both.)
So. ER. Not so much like the TV show. Just your average badly decorated waiting area with ugly chairs and curtained-off rooms full of old men moaning for bedpans. I got a lot of compliments on my Marc Jacobs perfume from the nurses. (Yes, I spritzed perfume before leaving for the ER. I also changed my underwear, brushed my teeth and brought a book. I go prepared.) My blood pressure was elevated from the pain. I got a gown but was allowed to mostly stay dressed, though I was very glad I'd put on clean underwear, even if they were Hello Kitty.
I got X-rays and turns out? We were right the first time. No breaks, just severe contusions to the bones and tendons. Obviously, I was glad my foot would be fine, but I still felt really dumb for being there and for being a baby and telling them my pain was an 8 out of 10 and it was JUST A BRUISE. But apparently? I have very, very strong bones. I've never broken anything more than my pinky toe in my life, and this time is no exception. Osteoporosis and decrepit old age have not set in yet. Calcium power!
So I was sent home on crutches and on codeine. Which don't go as well together as you might think. You need to be a little coordinated to use crutches, which I am not, and then the codeine (should I have told them about the vodka cocktails?) just totally effs with your motor skills.
And I'm supposed to stay off it today and keep it elevated as much as possible. Codeine every four to eight hours as needed, which is still quite often. My foot looks fine though. Surface bruises won't appear until the internal bruising gets better. We're placing bets on what color it will turn first.
Hmm...anybody else smell a photo essay? I hope it's gory.
