So I may or may not have a stress fracture in my foot. I may or may not have had it for a few days now. I’ve had them before, and I’m pretty sure that’s what’s going on now, but I don’t really know because…ahem…I haven’t been to the doctor. I think I’ve blogged before about my dislike of going to the doctor. It’s like some weird cult: they strip you down, clothe you in a shapeless one-size-reveals-everyone’s-backside garment, take your money, say a lot of strange-sounding words you don’t understand, and expect you to nod obediently. The x-rays and scans and suction cup machines never show anything concrete, so you have to take it all on faith, and you keep getting bills for about four months. Though, come to think of it, cults just take all your money up front, so that last part is not very cult-like. But it is very doctor-like. So, I’ve just been walking around on a (probably) broken foot. It’s (probably) fine.
Actually, it’s really starting to hurt. But I’m kind of getting into it. “Check me out, I’m a tough guy! I walk around on a broken bone like it’s nothing! I chew gravel for fun and I laugh at pain! Not only can I walk on a broken foot, but I can do it in heels–watch! Oh, God…” In retrospect, not the best idea in the world. My office wife is pissed at me, mostly because she’s the one who has to drive me around while I heal. Also, it’s getting more difficult to find work-appropriate shoes that will fit around the swelling. And the top of my foot is starting to turn colors. Still, I have not gone to the doctor. I keep hoping it will go away on its own, not unlike my last few relationships.
I’ve been trying to take it easy once I get home. Prop up my foot, maybe put a pack of frozen peas on it, crack a beer–nature’s painkiller–and watch a movie. Except, I just realized I’m out of allergy medicine, there’s no one around to drive me to the store, and the nearest store that sells my medicine is four blocks away. That sound you hear? That’s my office wife laughing her ass off. Well, maybe the non-stop sneezing will distract me from the throbbing pain in my foot. Or maybe I’ll forget about how miserable my allergies make me when my foot falls off. I’m all about the positive. And yes, Office Wife, I will call the doctor tomorrow.
Oh, God. I’m out of beer, too. Now that’s a f*cking emergency!