If I Could Open My Mouth Wide Enough for a Marching Band to March Out

Mother Nature is on my shit list right now. So is the Universe.

::shaking fists in the air::

Yesterday I stupidly decided to take the boys to the park. I say stupidly because I didn't feel up to it and didn't want to, but they were acting like little banshees and were trying to figure out how to drive me crazy and/or burn the house down.

Both boys were tripping all over the park, throwing hissy fits and not listening. After putting up with their crap for an hour, I decided it was time to leave.

When we got to the van, Griffin and Darwin took it upon themselves to try to raise all the evil souls in Haites to use their wrath upon me. It worked Really Well.

I opened the door for Griffin to climb in, Darwin refused to walk (he went boneless) and I had to carry him. I had 33 extra pounds on my left hip.

Then it happened.

I stepped on a piece of nature (stupid nature) and twisted my foot. I regained my balance and started walking. Turns out the piece of nature-that-was-larger-than-a-golf-ball was till under my foot, and I took a huge tumble in slow motion.

Instinct kicked in and I did everything I could to prevent Darwin from getting hurt. I fell, fell and fell -- I was scraped, bruised and whacked my head on the van. Darwin was fine, not a scratch. However, I tore up my knee complete with a river of blood, scraped my neck, bonked my head and had 76 bruises. And my foot. My foot.

By the time I got home I couldn't walk on it. The doctor's office was too busy to see me, so I had to wait three hours for urgent care to open. I had x-rays and an exam. The doctor was convinced that I broke my foot (broke. my. foot?), but the x-rays showed all the bones are fine. But he needs a specialist to look it over, because he's still convinced it is broken.

I asked him about the soft tissue, if any ligaments are torn and he said he didn't know and there's no way to tell (stupid medical science, surely there's a way to tell).

I have an appointment this afternoon to see my real doctor and probably have more x-rays done. My foot is seriously swollen and and purple with little brown bruises all over. Ubber-gross and very painful.

My muscles in my foot are spasming and sending shooting pains up to my knee. I can't do anything by myself, and getting across the room is like an aerobic activity.

I have to lay down with my foot raised above my heart with ice packs on it. My step-mom brought over her walker last night (which helped a little) and my cousin Sarah is over today to help fully take care of the boys. My aunt loaned me some crutches, but even at the lowest setting they are too tall for me (damn things come up to my ears).

Sarah went down to the basement to get me my laptop so I could at least write this and then read the blogs off bloglines (which, by the way, has 165 posts for me to read, so that should entertain me for a while). And I can't post photos because we haven't networked the computers together yet, and there's no way in hell I can make it downstairs to upload the photos.

Like you all would actually want to see my foot, knee and other battle scars.

Of course, anytime I tell someone what happened their first question is, "Are you still going to Michigan?" According to Aaron, the answer is yes. Me? I'm letting the doctor decide. I honestly don't know how I can handle a 750 mile trip and then be over two hours away from a Whole Foods with my foot all jacked up.

One thing is for sure. If my foot doesn't kill me, my in-laws will.