Last week I twisted my foot while skydiving. Okay, so I wasn’t skydiving. It was just one little wrong step on a wet wooden ramp near our shed and my foot just flew out from under me. I can’t really even describe how I fell because I was back in a standing/tadasana position so quickly that it can only be described as a Michael Jackson half splits dance move. I’m pretty sure I landed in a runner’s stretch, similar to eka pada paschimottanasana, with my left leg bent and my right leg straight. There’s no way to know for sure but forensic medicine points to this given the bruise on my left inner knee and the bruise on the inner side of my left mid-foot. No matter how it happened, it really hurts to put all of the 120 pounds I wish I weighed on that foot.
I toughed it out for a day at work, did weekend errands around town, drove to the hair salon in the stick shift, hosted a yoga student party at our house, and cleaned up afterward. But by Tuesday of this week I started to feel run down, lethargic, and that dang foot was still bruised and hurting; so I decided to take my temperature. Growing up in my parents’ house, the only way you could get out of going to school was if you could prove your condition with a fever. And don’t try running the thermometer under hot water, you’ll be found out. Well sure enough, my temperature was 101 and Doc B, in all her great wisdom, suggested I actually go see a doctor.
I bundled myself up in warm winter garb and hiking boots (because they felt good on my foot) and (one legged) hopped into the truck. As I was at a red light just about to turn into the Doc in the box, I got rear ended, or as Doc B corrected me, the truck got rear ended, or as I then corrected her, the truck got twerked. I pulled over and limped out of the truck to assess the damage. Thankfully for me and Chaquita, the very nice lady who hit me, there was no damage to either vehicle. And after her look of horror at me limping, I assured her that I already had the limp before she Robin Thicked me. She gave me her business card just in case and I’m sure she was in horror again as I pulled into the doctor’s office parking lot.
After 45 minutes of watching Disney movies with three sneezing toddlers and their frazzled mother, I was called from the “sick” area of the waiting room to the dreaded scale. The pleasant but rushed nurse clearly didn’t have time for me to remove my hiking boots, set down my purse, or empty my pockets of used tissues and two pounds of cough drops. I asked her if she could subtract ten pounds for all of that and she just chuckled like she’d heard that one before. When I asked her if she could instead add 4 inches to my height, she belly laughed like I found one she hadn’t heard. She then took my vitals and her eyes got big when she saw that my blood pressure was 156/112 – yikes. Next she swabbed my nose and throat, not with the same q-tip thank goodness, to test for flu and strep, and said she’d send in the doctor to look at my foot.
The doctor examined my pretty purple foot and asked what I’d done. I told her the Michael Jackson move story, we laughed, and here’s how the rest of the conversation went:
Doctor: “well you’re the most chipper person with the flu I’ve ever seen!”
Me: “you know, I don’t think I really have the flu, I think my blood pressure is up because my foot hurts and I’m just feeling bad because of that.”
Doctor: “no, you have the flu”
Me: “no seriously, this happened a couple of years ago, my shoulder was hurting really badly and my blood pressure went way up and…”
Doctor, smiling and cutting me off: “no seriously; you have the flu, the test came back positive!”
Well heck, I didn’t even make the connection that the q-tip swab was really headed for a petri dish flu test let alone know that the results would come back that quickly. So whatever Rapid Flu A is, I have that.
I drove back home in my Miley Cyrus mobile, framed my out of work slip, propped up my foot with an icepack attached and waited for Doc B to bring home some chicken soup and Tamiflu®. After calling around to eight different pharmacies, she had to make a trek to a Kroger deeper in the hood to find the prescription in stock; wish I had time for a healthcare debate but I’ll leave that for another day.
After eating and drinking my weight in saltine crackers and Red Rock ginger ale, coffee finally tasted good this morning. I’ll know I’m fully recovered when green olives and vodka sound appealing.