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The Tale of the Toe

2007-06-06    1:28 p.m.
 
Last Thursday I went out with coworkers to happy hour. Having good coworkers, this is usually a lot of fun and includes many Petron-induced giggles.

However, last Thursday was not one of those nights.

While waiting for the onesie bathroom in a crowded hallway, one of my comrades stepped on my toe. This isn’t a big guy by any means, but he did some devil’s physics on my toenail, resulting in me taking to the floor with a wad of wet rags to stop the bleeding.

I showed up to work on Friday morning with a creative bandage made from gauze pads and tape, since sticking bandaids on this injury would prove quite a feat. Mid-morning, the pain really got to me. Now add to it the wooziness I felt when I better examined my nail and saw ooze.

I can watch that damn surgery channel without a flinch, but when I see my own innards or liquids, my blood pressure drops and my cheeks flush. After nearly losing my breakfast multiple times that morning, I just left work for the comfy confines of my couch.

With exception to an outing to the art museum down the street from me and a quick sojourn at Target to take advantage of a friend’s car to haul things, that’s where I spent the entire weekend.

Monday I came into work well-rested, but my foot was hurting more than the days before. Add to it that the ooze continued and there was some redness. I decided that since I would really like to keep the big toe, a trip to the doctor was in order.

Now, with exception to the yearly crotch-scrape doctor’s visit, I don’t go to the doctor. Most colds are taken care of with rest, liquids, and some Theraflu. But when I called the doctor’s number, tried to make an appointment for that afternoon, and learned that the Loop office was booked for the entire day, I thought I was going to cry.

This should tell you how much pain I was in.

After making the way down the list of offices, I ended up with one a bit north of town. The doctor looked, said a big word that means “Yes, it’s infected and totally gross,” and then wrote me a prescription for antibiotics. I tried to talk him into writing me a script for something fun too, but that didn’t work.

Anyway, since starting the meds that afternoon I’ve been woozy, nauseated, and sleepy. I suppose if the doctor had been the unscrupulous type who would write me a script on demand, I’d have these same effects.  



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