The Broken Foot Chronicles - The Incident

     I was having a rough morning. 

    On Tuesday, April 11 I did not wake feeling up to par.  I determined that McDonald’s hashbrowns would fix this problem and acted accordingly. 

    On an unrelated note, I still can’t figure out why college has made me gain weight.

    This particular morning brought with it the stress of an unfinished paper that was due at 11.  I dragged myself out of bed at 8, headed to McDonalds (i don’t even care. those are God’s hashbrowns.), and then went to my apartment to work on the paper.  I had structurally finished the paper the afternoon before, and after forty five minutes I had filled out the required ten pages.  I glanced over it (this always makes me feel better about the fact that I don’t actually read my papers once they’re done), determined that it was the best paper I’d written for the class**, and submitted it electronically. 

    I briefly considered showering but decided to pass.  It was late, and I had only one class in which I was friends with absolutely no one.  I could shower later.

    I shifted my left leg out my cross legged position and stepped onto the floor beside my bed.  What happened next was a dangerous move that ended tragically and that I have lived to regret. 

    I stepped onto my right foot.

    Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Do not be deceived.  Unbeknownst to myself, my right foot was asleep.  When I went to set it on the floor, I misjudged the floor and my toes curled under my foot.  I look down just as I put all my weight on my right foot, just in time  to see my foot bend diagonally (hard to explain because it should never, never happen) and hear the accompanying popping noise.

    Imaginary readers, I hope to God that none of you ever have to hear that noise. 

    Possessing cat-like reflexes (and an unrelated hatred of cats), I did not fall down but stumbled and steadied myself on my newly injured foot.  This hurt, so i proceeded to run around my room for about six steps before deciding to lay down on the ground. 

    Pain. A lot of pain. 

    My roommates were both in class and my phone was in the other room.  I decided that maybe from now on I would just lie on the floor. 

    After a while I realized that lying on the floor indefinitely was not an option in light of my every increasing pain levels (remember JD’s chart? I was all the way on the right side).  After considering the situation logistically, I decided to crab walk into the common room, keeping my right foot off of the floor.  Go ahead, take a second to picture it. Laugh. 

    We’ve got nothing if we can’t laugh. 

    Five minutes later I had transversed the apartment and located my phone.  I decided not to call anyone.  I was going to feel really silly in half an hour when the pain subsided and I realized that it was nothing.  I lied on the floor trying the “yelling for pain management” technique and shortly thereafter decided to call my mom.

    I’ve make a huge mistake.

    Calling my mom that is, not hurting my foot.  That could’ve happened to anyone. 

    “Mom, I think I might have broken my foot.”

    “AHHHHHHHH oh my - what in - how are - ahh”

    “Mom! Probably not! I mean, I just stepped on it.  It can’t have actually broken, that’s ridiculous. It probably just hurts right now.  I’ll call you if I decide to go to the hospital.”

    I hung up and moved from worrying about my foot to worrying about my brain function.  Why in the world would I call my mother when I’ve known for years that the woman is seven seconds away from panicking at any given point in time? (don’t get her started on...anything.  just don’t.  those are dangerous waters.)  

    I called my friend Sima, who graciously skipped class and came to get me.  I think she was a little stymied when she got to my apartment to find that I had called for her assistance but was now refusing to move.

    It hurt.

    Once Sima helped me find a shorts and a t-shirt to replace the dress I was wearing, (that’s right. I wear dresses even when I don’t shower. makes no sense) we approached the problem of getting me the to car.  I will just say this: that was one of the most painful experiences of my life.  We got me to the elevator and out the front door of the dorm, where Sima had a stroke of brilliance.  She borrowed the reeve’s office chair in order to roll my across the quad and to the car. 

    Take a second to picture me being rolled across the quad in an office chair at 11 am. 

    Go ahead, laugh.  That’s what I did the whole way across the quad.  Of course, that may have been less making-fun-of-myself-laughter and more manical I’m-in-pain laughter, but that’s neither here nor there. 

    We got me into the car and drove to Student Health.  Sima pulled up and told me to get out while she parked the car.  I looked at her disbelievingly. 

    “How?”

    She got out and helped me onto the sidewalk.  I considered the situation and decided to lie down in the grass until she got back.  A few minutes later a nurse and man with a wheelchair showed up and asked if I was alright.

    I said yes.  Again, I should have been more worried about my brain function. 

    They helped me inside and thus began the hours long process that ended in my finding out that I had indeed broken my foot by stepping on it.  I was given crutches and an appointment to be fitted with a boot in a  sports medicine clinic the next morning.

to be continued...

**As it turns out, my teacher did not agree with my assessment of the paper.  It earned me an 83, the lowest grade I got on anything in the class.  I really expected a few sympathy points.  COME ON. (gob)