Disjointed

Item – I have had it with this m*th*rf*cking fracture in this m*th*rf*cking toe.

Item – Seriously, it’s a toe. It’s about the size of a grape. It has no business being such a flaming nuisance just because I broke it just a little bit.

Item – Work are being very nice to my toe, and are letting me sit tight in the office surrounded by crenellations of books rather than hopping about the stacks sorting out the bewildering mess only 5000 students with exams on the morrow can make of a library. So that’s OK. After nearly a week of pathetic limping, I can walk more-or-less normally, if rather slowly, but the bastard thing will insist on swelling up and aching at the end of the day. Especially after I attempted a gentle meander round The Big Park at the weekend, which, in restrospect, was daft. Also, I’m not keen on bending and flexing my foot yet; I have been known to yelp mid-stretch and freak out my colleagues just a little bit. I AM VERY BORED OF THE TOE.

Item – H is on some kind of mission to prove all other husbands in Britain wrong, and is still doing all the cooking and most of the house-work. Yes, most! I cleaned a loo the other day! All by myself! And I helped make the bed! Once!

Item – H has been looking after me very carefully ever since Zombryo, really. I don’t know if it’s because I was so obviously so fucking depressed it frightened him, or if it’s because he, like many dear good chaps, wants, needs, to Fix Things, and not being able to fix Zombryo, took on fixing me, in so far as he could, by treating me like a prize exhibit in the V&A. This has been very soothing, but I am feeling increasingly self-conscious about it all, also, H is right, I do make better cauliflower cheese than he does. And then I went and broke my toe, and made, say, standing at the sink or the stove into a great big stupid physical issue instead. Arse.

Item – I bought him a theatre ticket and dinner. I try.

Item – How long to bastard toes take to heal anyway? (Longer than legitimate ones, no doubt).

Item – Anyway, meanwhile, in Matters Arising North of the Knees, we are now all pretty certain my period is due on Saturday. So, there’s that weekend blown out of the water.

Item – This is not a hope-filled cycle (not that I find getting pregnant a hopeful event in any case, these days. Gah). H and I had sex four days before I ovulated, and then again the day after I ovulated, and unless H has the Sperm of Hercules, whose endurance and/or speed is beyond that of mere mortals, my poor little egg had a very dull trip down the Fallopian tube. No matter. SymptomWatch has been set to ‘ignore’. I have counted my drugs and my sticky-backed duvets. Onwards.

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12 responses to “Disjointed

  • Blanche

    Not to bring further doom and gloom – but when I cracked my toe (for which I had to fill out paperwork clearly designed to determine whether or not I was a victim of spousal abuse) I spent the next couple of months wearing nothing but my formerly beloved* Doc Martins as they were the least bendy of all my shoes.

    *Formerly beloved, as wearing the same shoes for 2+ months even when they are lovely tends to kill even strong affection.

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    There is an alternative to Rumpled Heap of Duvet?!

    *Blows Get-Better kisses to toe*

  • bionic baby mama

    he made the bed do what, exactly? i don’t understand that phrase.

    i believe my sodding toe took about 6 weeks to stop being a nuisance. lame-o.

  • Twangy

    Poor toe. Sorry too, about impending weekend. Good to have drug stash at hand, illegal though that may sound.

    At least you go to the Prof with a clean slate, so to speak, I suppose?

    H is lovely, is he not? That’s a good husband.

  • Betty M

    H needs to give lessons in appropriate husbandly behaviour. He puts others to shame.
    I have no knowledge on broken toes but hope yours heals swiftly.

  • a

    I’m sure that fractured toes (both bastard and legitimate) take as long to heal as any other fractured bone…or perhaps longer, since we cannot sit with our feet up all the time for 2 weeks. Perhaps you could use this as an opportunity to stock up on prescription pain medication? It could help your weekend too…

  • Heather

    “Longer than legitimate ones, no doubt”
    -I giggled.

    Hope that it heals up soon.

    And stop making your beds, you make the rest of us look bad.

  • womb for improvement

    Yeah walking round the big park probably wasn’t the most healing of efforts.

    I wonder if when your period arrives you can try distraction therapy by flexing your toe every time the cramps get too bad.

    Or maybe not.

    • May

      Seriously, apart from the ten minutes immediately after I smashed the Sodding Toe and rolled on the floor gasping and swearing, I’d take the toe over the cramps any day. I rather worry that my sense of what, exactly, IS painful is becoming distorted.

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