Walking Wounded

Literally. I am the walking wounded. Who would have guessed that a routine fishing expedition into my moving boxes would turn into a run to urgent care and stitches? Background story, you ask? Okay.

I woke up this morning craving homemade Chex Mix. So I took myself hence to Walmart and purchased the makings and after hemming and hawing, got around to actually making it. I gathered the fixin's and couldn't find seasoned salt anywhere in the kitchen. I just knew I had some in my boxes downstairs, so I trekked down to the basement and was digging through my boxes from the kitchen and happened to knock a favored coffee mug off the monster rack the boxes are stored on (the coffee mugs were just sitting there because I was going to bring them upstairs, but then I realized I really didn't drink herbal tea enough to warrant space they would take up). It shattered and hit my right foot. I muttered some choice words (not cuss words) and checked to see if it cut my foot because it felt like it, but saw no blood, so I continued looking without moving my foot so I wouldn't cut the bottom with all the shards of ceramic all over the place. I took a moment to shift the remaining coffee mugs over to what I thought was a safe distance and continued looking for the seasoned salt and consequently knocked off another favored mug, at such a time I gave up looking and went to go up stairs. I turned around, took two steps and felt a certain wetness on the bottom of my pajama bottoms and realized that I had been cut. So I lifted the leg of my pants and hobbled up the stairs where I grabbed a rag and wrapped it around the wound before going to the couch to survey the damage.

The wound wasn't bad, but it was relatively deep and right where the foot flexes at the toes. What with all the recent doctors visits, I was determined I could take care of this, so I sent my mom on a scavenger hunt for butterfly bandages, super glue, alcohol, bandaids and such. No good. The cut wouldn't stop bleeding. And whenever I flexed my big toe, it got worse. So I called my doctor. They don't do urgent care of any sort. Off I go to an urgent care facility. But not before finding the all important seasoned salt. Where, you ask? In the wrong cupboard, of course. Where else? Duh!

I wrap my foot, take apart a tennis shoe to get to the urgent care because of course it's raining here. We get right in. The doctor takes a look, tells me that it would eventually heal, but since it's right at the flex-point would break open often and would take months to heal fully, so he's going to stitch it closed and put me in a post-op sandal. I get the honor of receiving a tetanus shot because it's been just over 10 years since my last shot and set free with my super-stylish sandal and a prescription for antibiotics. Who knows what kind of stuff was on those mugs in the basement, right? Example of my stylish sandal I get to wear for 2 days:


The stitches come out in 2 weeks. Oh, yeah. On top of that, I had my Echo stress test follow-up scheduled for tomorrow. Had to reschedule that for two weeks down the road, too.

What's that you ask? Did I finally get my Chex Mix? Why yes...I did. And it was delicious! Yum!