On my right foot. A little one. Not the baby one. The one next to it. The ring finger of toes. I broke it on a rock. At the beach. On Wednesday. Early evening. The sun setting and the sky starting to turn that magnified light that it sits into before turning pink when the sun hits the ocean.
I was walking up from the beach at this lovely time of day after a really lovely walk on the beach with my beautiful and perfect and oh so smart and amazing Doberman and my equally Navalicious husband. We were down in Ventura at the beach where the river head washes the rain waters out into the ocean.
The beach was covered with huge pieces of wood that many people had already gathered and turned into Tepee-like frames all along the shore.
I meant to walk back up the beach and to our car so I could grab my phone and then grab some photographs of the rising-into-the-sky structures of wood. And then my thought was perhaps I would write - at this Monday morning writing - about the wood and the rain that washed it down from the mountains near my town and onto this beach so many miles away. And about the flow of that and of life, too. That was the plan. But then I stubbed my toe against a rock.
And I broke my toe.
At least I am assuming it broke. It could have just dislocated at the joint. Either way, it was sitting at a now ninety degree angle from how it was sitting just a second before. And so I leaned down and bent it back.
It didn't hurt. Not really. Just made a really noisy click click sound as I moved it back into the position it was in before it was stubbed. Then I told my husband I think I broke my toe. Then I felt a bit queasy.
I had to walk back to the car. And then drive back to his car. And then drive home. I did this after first giving my perfect dog some water because her needs are always more important than mine. That is how it is when you own a dog as other dog owners know.
I gave her water. Then settled into the driver's seat to drive my husband back to his car and then drive myself home.
I mentioned that this is my right foot. Which means that it is my driving foot. I should also mention that I drive a standard.
I once broke my foot. This same foot that now has a broken toe. This was oh so many years ago when my middle daughter, who will be twenty-four this summer, was one. And so friggin cute. And I was standing on this old and wooden porch at the beach house of the uncle of my Navalicious husband and the wooden steps - which were rotted out though we did not know - gave way as I walked down them, my daughter in my arms.
As with the water for the dog care taking I explained above, I fell to the ground, without the use of my arms as they were there, holding up my daughter so she would not land along with me in a way that could possibly hurt her. This is how it is when you have a child, as other child havers know.
And once on my back with my foot in the air I said to my husband can someone please take Teagan and then I think I broke my foot.
That break was much worse than this. That break was the bone that runs along the outside of the foot. I could not use the foot at all. For six weeks. I drove a mini van at the time - an automatic car not a standard like my car now - and so would settle my broken right and driving foot on the passenger seat next to me and drive with my left foot. I had the middle one year old daughter and my son, who was four. I was not really able to take much of a break despite the break.
Now this break, of the little ring finger of toes, it was not like that break and so I was able to put enough pressure on the ball of the foot, far enough away from the toes to not bother the toe. This was a good thing as, since I have this standard car, I need two feet to drive. No resting on the passenger seat this time around.
So I made it back to the lot to my husband's car and then back to my town and my road on my house to ice and then tape this ring finger toe to the middle toe. And then rest. Finally.
So, you may ask, where does the big boot come in? Because it is quite a serious boot for a not so serious toe.
The boot is my daughters. The youngest one who was not yet born when the middle one went down with me on the rotted out stair of my husband's uncle's porch. She had the boot from a foot surgery a while back and after a full day of asking me if I wanted it and me saying oh no - because this was a little toe break not a full foot break and did I really need such a big boot? - I took the boot.
And oh my! I love this boot. I can walk without that hurtful sway of my hips that happens when I was not quite walking because I could not put weight on the foot to walk properly. I can walk which means I can walk my dog. And when we play ball I don't have to worry about my perfect Doberman landing on my foot while jumping for her ball. And I can drive without worrying about pressing on the brake too hard and hurting the break in my already hurt toe. And oh so many other things like walking down the stairs which is really hard without the boot.
So there you have it. The big boot and the little toe story with the happy ending. My toe is getting better. It's now a light green with no swelling. I can put weight on it when I'm just standing and it doesn't hurt when I sleep and roll over on it by mistake.
But I'm still wearing this awesome boot. For a few more days. Thank goodness it matches my shoes!