I broke my toe on the last day of my vacation. I came back to the beach house to begin cleaning and doing the loads of laundry that needed to get started when I hit a small wooden stool with my baby toe. As I looked down, the small toe on my left foot was pointing West! Not good. I thought I must have dislocated the toe and having done that previously on the other foot, I tried to pull the toe back into the joint. No luck – only searing pain. Then I allowed my adult son to try his hand at getting the errant digit back into line. I bit down hard while he tugged and pulled. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. My husband and I decided that I was going to require a visit to the Emergency Department at the local hospital.
When we arrived, the waiting room was packed. I overheard a very irate wife of an elderly man blow her steam off at a nurse telling her that they had been waiting for over two hours to be seen. UGH. This was NOT how I wanted to spend my last evening of vacation. My son was returning to his home in another state the next day and every minute with him and his lovely fiancée was precious. The thought of wasting hours watching CNN in the waiting room was making my head pop off. I felt antsier than a kindergartner sitting through a Vagner opera.