If you decide at the last minute to take a trip up to Idaho to visit your family, beware; because you just never know what can happen.
I took the girls for a weekend trip up to see Grandma and Grandpa, and on the last night, i.e. last night this happened:
For the non-x-ray initiated, this is a joint fracture in the outside metatarsal on the right foot. Walking is...painful.
It wasn't that big of a deal either—I wish there was some sort of story that would make a trip to the ER at 10:30 at night worth the story, but there isn't. It was a case of carrying a heavy crock pot out to the garage to store it overnight, missing the last stair in the garage and going down hard. I thought it would break the crock pot; but at least semi-happily for Grandma, that's not what broke.
Limping in, there was a ton of pain each time the right foot took some weight. Ultimately, everybody decided it wasn't "just a bruise" after the tears (yes, tears) started rolling. The pain was intense! I'm not above admitting there were tears. (Hey, the kids cry when they brush the wall. This is a *broken* bone: tears allowed.)
The doctors, of course, had difficulty saying it was anything more serious than a "deep bruise." However, after insistent prodding, they agreed an x-ray might be in order. And, as you see above, CRACKED foot!
The witch doctors say 6 weeks in a hard boot (no cast), and driving can happen again. Because it's the right foot, no driving until the boot comes off! I've decided independence is over-rated anyway, chauffeurs are all the rage.
This would have been really traumatic, had it been my foot.
Yes, I wrote the story to deceive you into thinking it was my foot, but 'twasn't. Oh, don't get me wrong, this broken foot happened, and it kind of ruined the end of our President's Day weekend, but it didn't happen to me. Grandma deserves all the credit and sympathy.
I hope your foot heals well, Grandma!