I’ve always thought that if I broke something, I’d have some cool story to explain:

  • I was parachuting, the parachute malfunctioned
  • I was climbing a mountain
  • I was in mile 20 of the marathon, and got hit by a random car (ok probably not)

Or at least something that makes sense

  • I slid into third base at a softball game
  • I was out on a training run
  • I was running up the stairs to get a baby

Instead, I get to explain my very first broken bone with: I tripped over a bouncy chair (or rather, it attacked me).

Bryan had been sick for about 5 days and on Thursday morning I started feeling off and figured it was probably my turn (yipee). By Thursday evening I had quickly progressed from feeling “scratchy” to “nose dripping on every available surface” to “tissue constantly stuck in nose” to “developing achiness and a fever” to “my fever is now 102” in a matter of less than 12 hours. Bryan had sent me to bed early to rest and at about 10:30 came in to take my temperature and give me some water. After that I stumbled out of bed in my feverish stupor, and headed for the bathroom.

That’s when the bouncy seat attacked.

Abby in the offending seat
Abby in the offending seat

What followed was a string of silent explitives, that had I been using my voice (hey, the babies were sleeping) would have been heard through the whole house. I stopped long enough to glance down at my foot and notice my pinky toe was sticking out at an odd angle.

Leanin to the left
Leanin to the left

I hope hope hoped it was just dislocated. I knew it would HURT to pop back into place but also knew healing time would be quicker and I’d still have a a chance of running my half marathon in 4 weeks. A friend came to stay with the babies and we went to the ER, where they took this neat picture:

Yeah, its broken
Yeah, its broken

A trip to the podiatrist the next day resulted in more x-rays, jabbing a needle into various parts of my foot to numb it, and an attempt to pull and twist the bone back into place. Yes, it was just as gross as it sounds. Because of course I not only broke it but also managed to make it super unstable.

I mean, if you’re gonna do it, do it right.

He taped it and gave me the bad news. Back in two weeks. Wear a boot for four. Rule of thumb (toe?) for bone breaks is 6 weeks to heal. Which means no running for 6 weeks, and no more half marathon. In fact since I have to wear the boot for 4 I’m really limited to what I can do. )If anyone has any good exercise or Yoga DVD recommendations, send them my way.)

I am so bummed. And then in a bizarre twist of irony, my jogging stroller showed up at the front door, and I spent the next 5 days knocked on my butt by the worst.virus.ever. Today on day 6 I’m just now starting to feel better, and finally have a temperature below 100. Bryan’s saint of a mom had to come up to help because all I could manage to do was feed them.

On the plus side, nearly one week down. Five weeks to go.

Sigh.

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