February 6, 2000
Bad Turns Worse

Cycle 4, Day 28, 9 dpo
Temp: 98.5
Cervical Mucus: Creamy
Cervix: Midway, closed, soft

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Okay, I didn't update yesterday. And with darn good reason; I was in excruciating pain. I've fractured a few of the toes on my left foot by ramming them into the foot of the bed.

I've come to the belief that bad things happen when Eric and I spend weekend mornings being lazy, sleeping late, and accomplishing nothing. Sometimes we get into fights, sometimes things end up breaking, sometimes we end up in the emergency room. Actually, that last is a new one, but it certainly does lend support to the theory. I got up relatively early and, as per my usual habits when Eric is sleeping late, went to get online and check my email. After I was finished, I woke him up, and we spent the next few hours happily web surfing together. (Ah, the joys of the home multi-user network.) We located an old friend on ICQ, and Eric talked with him for a while, exchanging updates and pictures. We - well, Eric - did our taxes. I chatted with my brother, who was quite relieved to hear the "good" news about Mom's cancer.

Sometime later, I glanced at the clock and realized that I, for one, had been online for almost eight hours, and that it was high time that I actually did something. Intending to get dressed and go out to eat in the hopes of having a good conversation which could form the basis of a journal entry on a boring day, I got up and trotted into the bedroom. Perhaps I should have been wearing my glasses, even for at-home navigation; I heard the sound of my toes snapping before the actual pain hit my brain. Snap-snap-snap! Then I was lying face down on the bed, screaming bloody murder. "Eric-Eric-Eric-Eric! Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow..."

He rushed in, confused and alarmed. "What is it? What's hurt?" With supreme effort, I stopped myself from writhing long enough to flail in the direction of my foot. Eventually, through a combination of semi-coherent moans and hand wavings, I managed to convey to my husband that I had stubbed my toes. He dared to chuckle! My screams shortly convinced him that I was unamused, and so, after suggesting a trip to the ER and having said suggestion waved away, he helped me onto the bed and went to take his own shower.

"Eric? You all right?" Silence.
"Yeah, I'm okay."

After his shower, he came limping and lurching into the bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. He had fallen in the shower and gained a nasty-looking bruise on his anklebone. We took turns passing the ice pack between us and chuckling about our clumsiness, then went out to eat.

I realized that I had done more that simply give my foot a nasty knock when I couldn't make the trek back across the parking lot to our car from the restaurant. Eric had to go get the car and pick me up. On our way across town to the nearest hospital, I said, "They won't be able to do anything. Don't they just tape your toes?"
"Yes, but you'd want to know if they were broken."
"But I can't really have an X-ray. We don't know if I'm pregnant yet."
"They can cover you up with a lead blanket. Besides, maybe they can give you a pregnancy test."
"Well, that would be nice. I don't think they could pick up anything yet, though."

We pulled up to the hospital, and Eric dropped me off at the door. We limped in together, and the nice nurses took my vital signs before depositing me into a wheel chair and "driving" me back to the ER.

I know Eric was hurting. I, too, was concerned for him, because foot injuries can be a Really Bad Thing™ for diabetics with impaired circulation. Still, it became quite tiring, quite in a hurry, when he would ask every person who came in our curtained-off area to examine me, "Hey, while I have you here, can you look at something for me?" and whip out his ankle. I mean, he had a bruise, as everybody who looked at it agreed. I had broken bones. I was in agony; he was sore.

They decided not to X-ray. As the doctor said, "If your baby had any kind of birth defect, you'd be blaming yourself forever. If it was anything else that was broken, we'd X-ray, but for toes that won't even affect the way you walk when they heal..." So they gave me a très chic styrofoam shoe and sent me on my way with a sheet of instructions that began, "You have fractured your toe." Well, gee! Thanks for the information! They also wouldn't give me a pregnancy test. I knew it was too early before they told me, but I was still hoping, just a little bit.

This morning, I had Eric tape my toes together, like the sheet suggested. He was a bit confused about how to get the tape between them; when he tried pulling them apart, he was treated to a hand slapping his back and an involuntary gutteral scream. Once again, his laughter at my predicament was unappreciated, so he finally got back to business and finished the job. They still throb with pain, but I don't want them healing in crooked directions, I guess.

We stayed home from church. I couldn't face the idea of trying to get dressed and make my way down the church nave. I do have a set of crutches from when I sprained my foot last year (again, the left one; perhaps I need to sew cushions in all my left shoes), but I couldn't operate them properly then, so I'm not even trying this time around. The wheelchair, though, was quite nice.

I did have one bit of good news last night. Amy called with her wedding date, and asked me to be her matron of honor! I was beyond flattered and happily agreed. I do wish that I was geographically closer to her so that I could help out with all the things that a matron of honor is supposed to do, like bridal showers, but there's not much to be done about that, I suppose. None of my bridesmaids, including Amy, were anywhere near me when I was planning my wedding, and we got by all right.

I'm also a trifle concerned about the fact that I could be as much as seven months pregnant when her wedding date, August fifth, rolls around. Thankfully, she's decided to take an extremely casual approach toward wedding wear and is letting her bridesmaids choose the dresses that suit them best. I know of some maternity wear catalogs that have some absolutely gorgeous dresses, so I think I can find something that will work.

By the way, I want to thank everybody who wrote to me about my mother's cancer. I appreciate all the sympathetic notes and the letters which reaffirmed that thyroid cancer isn't nearly as deadly as it sounds. I'm really starting to be optimistic about it; Mom will be all right. It's just so frightening to get that kind of news, especially over the phone. I'll write more about the way things are heading after Mom's meeting with the doctor tomorrow.

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