I’ve been wanting to visit a podiatrist, but I am daunted from seeking healthcare, daunted by my insurer. Humana refuses to thoroughly update their database of “approved” physicians to reflect the reality of post-Katrina New Orleans. This may come as a shock but after the floods of ’05 many doctors simply ain’t there no more.
I became so aggravated that I called Humana and asked them to find a specialist and make an appointment for me. To their credit, they did so in fairly short order.
So Tuesday morning I got in our shiny new rental car and made my way to see an orthopedic podiatrist in the medical district. As long as I was headed in that general direction, I figured I’d go on to the Quarter and catch a haircut from Pat at the Monteleone. It was pouring rain as December chugged on its way to becoming our wettest month on record. I found a place to park on the street, fed the meter, got my haircut, went around the corner to Cafe Beignet for a cup of coffee, petted the big fluffy cat perched under my table, and finally made my way back to the car, scurrying along under the ubiquitous balconies in a vain effort to stay dry.
I reached into my pocket for my key and was distressed to find it wasn’t there. I must have left it in the rental. What if I locked myself out? But no, I told myself, if hte key’s in the car, I must not have locked it, because the clicker is on the keychain.
Then I got to the car, pretty much soaked, and sure enough the door was unlocked. And there was the key, right where I left it.
In the ignition. With the engine running. It had been sitting there unlocked and ready to go for forty minutes.
Sound familiar? It should. Because Xy did the exact same thing a couple years ago. At which time I remarked:
…it’s so stupid it seems like something I would do.
And I guess I’ve proven myself correct on that point.
(Later when I recounted this tale of luck and folly to Xy, her immediate question was: “Are you pregnant?” For the record, I don’t think I am.)
The rain had been positively pounding down the whole time, which is I’m sure the only reason the car was still there. It’s also why I didn’t notice the motor was running when I left it. I could not hear the engine over the sound of that rain.
I went on to the doctor, filled out a vast ream of meaningless paperwork, waited around a while, got some X-rays and finally confirmed that my pinky toe is indeed broken. Yup, I broke my damn toe. Broke it a week and a half ago. I stubbed it on a piece of furniture while trying to change P’s diaper in the middle of the night. (And she didn’t even need a diaper change. Just wanted to get out of the crib.) The only real treatment is to tape the pinky to the fourth toe and let it heal.
I’ve also got some arthritis in my ankle, the one I sprained about a month before Xy’s stunt with the car. And I’ve got some pain in my heel for which the doctor prescribed an orthotic to wear in my shoe. My left foot is just a mess.
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Maybe it’s time to handle your left foot the way you’re handling your car–cut your losses!
Then you could make a Rox episode about it. You know what’s its title would be? Come on, guess! Oh, OK–“My Left Foot.” Get it?
But I’m sort of attached to my foot.
Oh, ok.
this blog hits close to home! I also have been having foot issues – a glass splinter. I finally found a good podiatrist and he went a digging. It might be out but it still hurts from all the digging! Oy!
And the car thing – I did that at a MG parade! Left the car running the whole parade! oops.
For some reason, the left one is the one I always hurt too.
That story of yours sounds like something I could read to my family over these holidays–my father and siblings especially–and they would say you were one of us! Now, if you’d broken your toe while hustling back to the running car in the rain, that would be humble magic. You my people, b.
Oh, and I have obligatory flickr shots of badly wounded toes (G did Jazz Fest a couple years on a broken toe) to share:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/derek_b/142068067/
warning: ugly, ugly, ugly one below
http://www.flickr.com/photos/derek_b/169185167/
bastard foot. but you need it anyway. good luck with it. and the car and enduring the down pour.
oops! but i have to say, that’s hilarious. about the car. sorry about the toe.
There must be a song for this in your repertoire.
I would say you live under a lucky star because
1. an insurance company actually helped you
2. your car was in the exact condition in which you left it
3. you have no complaint about your haircut
Cheers!
Been there & done that (the pinky toe thing; leaving the lights on is my stupid car trick). Hours past bed time, spotting a blonde streak out of the corner of my eye, I turned too quick and hit the door jamb chasing 20month old Blondie back to bed for the umpteenth time. Your body must process pain better than mine: I was on the kitchen floor sobbing in pain minutes after tucking (firmly!) Blondie back into bed.
ah well, the joys of parenthood.
[…] unable to function. I can’t really think when I’ve felt such pain before. Certainly breaking my toe was no comparison. I was crying like a baby. And here we had a few dozen people coming over in a […]
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[…] he didn’t hesitate to say there’s no way it should be taking this long to heal, since I broke my damn toe four months ago. He advised that I should see a podiatrist, and predicted I’d be given a […]