MY LEFT FOOT!!!
Well, I left Cancun, and Cancun left me with some extra special memories. That last gorgeous morning on the beach, frolicking in the waves with my husband, soaking up a few more rays and, unleashing those last 1000 freckles? PRICELESS.
THIS? not so much, and EXPENSIVE: (who is still fighting health care reform??)
Just as I clambered over the little mound of wave/wash that separates the gorgeous undulating shallows from the way out, I stepped hard on something sharp. OW. I thought I had just bruised my big toeÃ limped out, nothing alarming, nothing bleeding, so I went on my merry way. Hey, I was a dancer, I'm used to my feet killing me.
So, even through the hellish flight home, ok, a little limpy, a little bruised feeling. But I didn't think much of it and of course went right to yoga on Monday afternoon. By Monday night? Agony. Very peculiar pinpoint pain.
Daytime, medium nagging pain, needed a little sweat so I limped through yoga again. Tuesday night? AGONY, swelling, purple big toe. I figured I broke it, or dislodged some old dancer bone spur and it was wreaking havoc in thereÃ . Met with a surgeon who said, well let's get you on some antibiotics and some pain meds .and see where this goes.
One X-ray and an MRI later: A "Foreign BODY" was discovered. "Foreign body?" - like from Kazakstan? Tasmania? And how did it get in to my big toe?
Well yesterday, my internist Dr. Kruger said RUN (ok, hobble) don't walk to the surgeon, It's getting worse and you shouldn't wait. Get that thing the hell out of there. This is serious.
Well Dr. Ting went right in on it. Later he told us he'd never seen anything like it. "It was gross!" His assistants Antoine and Garvey couldn't have been sweeter, making sure I was warm and definitely not feeling ANY pain.
(I was 30 before I discovered pain relief. A MIRACLE!)
I asked if I could get pirate stitches in purple. WAs it the meds? Dr. Ting, renowned for his perfect work, didn't know what I meant. I'm sure surgeons are not really trained for that kind of boutique stitching, as most people don't WANT a scar.
sidebar: Those of you who came to the Ark gig in Ann Arbor might remember my infatuation with modern medicine and scars and doctors. I figure, if I'm going to go on a medical excursion, I want PROOF.
It all started... when I was little and living in London, I would pretend all the time that I'd gotten my arm stuck in the elevator, or that I'd broken my leg.
I'd limp around, or wrap up my arm in something gauzy and white until someone asked me what had happened. I'd go into a whole long story about how painful it was, how bad it looked. Lots of blood and stitchesÃ.
Always fashion forward!
Well, I have now FINALLY earned REAL crutches, a bunch of stitches, and I'll have to let you know about the scar when they unwrap.... my Left foot.