So, what had happened was… I was getting rid of a glass table top from my dining room a couple weeks ago.
I dragged it from my garage and propped it up against my fence, then called the city to come get it along with the base. The city quickly told me they would pick everything up –except the glass. Well, that glass is thick and literally so heavy it takes at least two people to lift it.
I left it there until I could figure out how to transport it. Before long, it shone bright like candy to the children who passed by. They couldn’t resist its whispering temptation. They fell prey, and taking a humongous brick/rock thing, they smashed it against the thick glass until it broke.
The shards splintered in interesting shapes and positions upon the ground. I saw it, and shaking my head in exasperation, tried to ignore it for the next several days. Finally, when I was behind the house again, I thought, “Ok, that’s really dangerous. I need to get that up.” I began immediately, careful to move slowly and meticulously. I put the shards in a bag, and now somehow emboldened, returned to continue picking up the rest. I shifted my sandal clad foot (yes, who knows what I was thinking) and felt a sharp something slide across the top of my foot. I looked down to see the foot opened before me, its tender white meat peeking out behind a perfectly cut slit.
“Oh no!” I shuffled into the house to wash it and think of what to do next.
Just then someone rang my doorbell. “Now what?!” I complained. It was my sweet friend Gloria who works at a non-profit nearby and habitually takes walks in the neighborhood. “I’m so glad to see you!” Soon I was on my way to urgent care, except her boss was driving me in my car while she watched over activities back at the office.
Six stitches later, my roommate was transporting me back home, and fetching my crutches. I was on them for 3 days, then able to limp, then walk, and then limp again, as now my foot appeared inflamed or infected or both. I had to bathe with my foot hanging out of the tub, taking me back to the days of foot surgery. I even snuck and drove with my left foot a couple times to give the right foot a rest… but it didn’t go especially well, so I gave that up before I had more problems.
After my third visit to urgent care, I was able to finally get those bright blue stitches out by an NP who just happened to listen to me daily on Moody Radio, and who joked with me the whole time I was squealing from pain and fear. Today I am walking again, prayerful that my foot will continue to heal. Thank you, Lord, for my feet. This could have been a lot worse.
In the words of James Brown (may he rest in peace)
Uh! I wanna get on the good foot!
Ho! good foot, I got to get on the good foot, ahhhhhh!!
Also I need a pedicure really badly–but can’t get one yet. The end.:)