Yesterday we were loading some 8 foot long 4 x 6 pressure-treated lumber into our trailer. I dropped my end. Onto my foot.
I, the woman who makes practically no noise during the throes of childbirth, screamed. More than once. I immediately took off my sandal as my foot swelled astronomically. In the short time it took my husband to help me hop back to my seat, my foot had a bump roughly the size of a large orange on top of it. Not that my foot is ever all that attractive, but this, my friend, wasn't pretty.
In route to the emergency room, we managed to make some phone calls for friends to meet us at the hospital and help us with the children.
I tried not to think how a broken foot would impact the garden and all of our other summer plans. I tried not to wonder how in the world I would manage the little ones without being able to walk.
I broke my other foot once, and it wasn't nearly as painful as this new injury. I sat in the emergency room waiting and waiting. Registration, waiting, triage, waiting, x-ray, waiting, waiting, waiting, exam, waiting. . .
I was so thankful for the help and conversation a friend provided to distract me from the pain.
Then the x-ray results were finally received. It wasn't a break, but a bad contusion, the same injury my mother-in-law received when her marble rolling pin fell on her foot.
I'm in pain, but I'll recover. Perhaps I won't be hunting down tomato worms in the garden for the next couple of days, but I suppose I could do some summer schoolwork with the children. I could fold clothes maybe. I'll definitely be keeping my foot up and frequently putting ice on it.
Let this be a lesson to you, one you may have never thought of before. Don't drop heavy things on your feet.