the tragic and torrid tale of the toe

Disclaimer: There are no graphic or disgusting pictures or descriptions contained in this post. No worries, people of weak stomachs. Fear not. I got yo' back.

Way back last Wednesday, I had an unfortunate accident that resulted in pictures like this going on Instagram:

Naturally, this looks very dramatic and tragic. This is because I am a very dramatic and tragically-disposed-to-exaggeration person...not because the injury was actually all that terrible. I mean, don't get me wrong-- it hurt like crap. There was bl***. And bandages. And ice packs. But like...I lived. And I probably would not have bothered to even tell the story on the blog except for the fact that people keep asking. So there's your life lesson: don't put stuff on Instagram, especially really dramatic stuff, unless you want to share all about it later. Ha!

Anyway. On Wednesday afternoon I was walking upstairs from my office to the copy room. I happened to be carrying my laptop, because everyone knows that not taking your computer with you basically guarantees that 18 things will go wrong and you will have to make 18 trips back up and down the stairs to re-format, re-print, and re-everything your work. If you just take the stupid computer with you in the first place, everything will go right the first time. FACT.

Next fact: our stairs are evil and hate me.

This is why they spontaneously move about, stick out, and change heights. JUST SO THAT when I am innocently trying to go upstairs, they can ruin my life.

I was going up the stairs. The stairs moved. I started to trip. I was holding my work-issued computer, which is kind of a piece...but still, I would prefer for it not to be smashed into a million bits. So I had to think fast.

I saved the laptop. I sacrificed my toe.

Pain. Suffering. Blood. Stuff. That feeling like you got the wind knocked out of you and you can't breathe or think for 5 minutes and then you're gasping the names of your co-workers, praying someone will hear you from the stairwell and come rescue your poor broken body.

Eventually I made it to the top of the stairs and my lovely co-workers went into First Responder mode. (PS. I don't know how they get anything done with me around. If I'm not putting them into fits with adoption stuff and ultrasounds, I'm breaking my toes on the stairs. Bless them.) They administered ice packs, Advil, gauze, and chocolate: all essential to surviving a debilitating injury.

Amidst my hysterical cries that I may never walk again, my co-worker Cookie (hi Cookie!) recalled that somewhere in the deep dark recesses of a closet somewhere, there was an ancient wheelchair. Naturally, we decided it would be necessary for me to use it.

The 1930s called. They're missing their psych ward wheelchair! Please note that there isn't even footrests!! Hahaha. 

So we all had a good time fixing me up and I probably enjoy being doted on and fussed over more than the average person, so it wasn't altogether a bad afternoon. Despite missing a large portion of my toenail now, once the initial shock wore off the pain really hasn't been bad (except for when I try to wear closed-toe shoes...particularly ROCK CLIMBING SHOES). After my inaugural wheelchair ride around the building, I even found that I was able to walk again...miracle of miracles.

And thus concludes the weird and wonderful story of my toe. At present it's feeling just fine (in sandals) and looks like it could use a pedicure, but that's not really anything new. It appears I'll survive this one and not even need to file for worker's comp, so...I guess that's good if you're my boss.

The End.