2.5 days after owie

I stood up, noticed how absent my feet felt and thought ‘oh dear, I must be very careful as asleep limbs are not supported by muscles and I could do myself an injury. Then I stumbled, my left big toe, freed from the constraints of awkward muscles folded forward under my left foot and then I sort of trod on it. Yes, a new level of clumsiness, I managed to step on my own toe with it’s own foot! There are always new levels to everything. I guess I’m being all I can be whether I like it or not. I felt a distinctly unpleasant sort of twangy feeling and thrashed on the ground for a little while and made little whimpering sounds.

When I got up my toe was still very much attached to my foot and I imagined I would have been thrashing around for a lot longer if I’d ripped some ligament off, so I went to breakfast. In retrospect I should have iced it and strapped it up, but I think it was just grateful everything was still attached. I had a small interlude where I had to sit down so I wouldn’t pass out, but other than that the pain was manageable.

I can curl my toe upwards, but bending it downwards is painful and it’s probably a bit premature to try given the owie it’s recovering from. Walking on it doesn’t hurt so much now that the bruising has come to the surface.

So there you go, for those of you curious, it is possible to step on your own foot with the very same foot. I offer up the photograph of evidence. I strongly suggest you do not repeat my experiment.

Once at Asterix Eyewear (there may be buses everywhere in Portland, but oh my they can take a long time to get anywhere) I was told it would be $50 and an overnight job to weld my glasses back together. I looked very sad indeed and said I was willing to wait, wait a long time, but I needed my eyes to get home. The nice guy took pity on this poor Australian with no spare glasses and set to work.

I was told where convenient cafes were, but all felt a bit too far to go without my eyes on, so I waited, listened to The ComicsSpot, watched TED talks, read and tried to get some work done.

And hurrah hooray, an hour and a half later I had whole glasses. Normally he would take longer to test the weld, do a proper paintjob etc, but normally he would have a whole lot more time. The repair comes with a 3 month warranty, so if the weld does not hold I’ll be right. It was a very fiddly job to get all the things to align and I’m very glad to have my eyes back.

It feels mighty nice to have glasses that stay on my face.

Bearskull and glasses

Thanks for all the glasses tips everyone – it looks like it will all come in handy. I have some gorgeous french frames from a friend that I plan to put new lenses into and am seriously tempted by some online cheapo shopping.

• 6 whole days until I leave Canberra
• 4 whole days to pack up most of the house and prepare an awesome farewell
• 3 torn ligaments in my right ankle
• 3 visits to the physiotherapist and 1 ankle brace
• 1 set of x-rays showing no bones broken
• 2 Visas, one for Mike(y), one for me. America here we come!
• 1 night of rockband, singstar and pata pata pata pon until 3am with friends
• 1 night of Eurovision and friends
• boundless, the sensation of blessedness around the good people I have in my life.

And here’s a picture of my bruised ankle from a few days ago. Since then the migration of bruising to my toes has contined in a black textured manner, the swelling has gone down further and the bruising over the ankle has faded. This happened shortly after my last post on accident prone lizness… the pen really is mightier than the sword. Owwww!

Liz's purple bruised ankle

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ankle, injuries

I wrote up this anecdote to share with my Co-Clarionaters, we’re getting to know each other and Mr Nicholas Bede Stenner suggested we share funny (which to me means embarrassing) stories. I shall share it with you as well.

The scene. Midnight, an eight year old Liz is cutting up a chocolate syrup bottle with stanley knife (box cutter). The plastic is really hard and I am tired and impatient and get careless. The stanley knife suddenly swishes really smoothly through plastic and over one of my fingers.

There’s a lot of blood. Everyone is sleeping and I know I shouldn’t be up and I don’t want to bother anyone and I don’t want to get into trouble so I stifle any kind of sound and try to apply first aid.

My parents, woken by random sounds and movements late at night find a bathroom with blood splats and a messy pile of bandaids that keep floating off.

My parents say “What’s going on?” with some urgency.

I hide my hand behind my back and say “nothing” convinced I am going to be in the biggest trouble ever for being so stupid with a knife.

I don’t get into trouble at all and am whisked off to hospital where I get a tetanus shot, many local anesthetic injections and get two stitches. I watch with fascination as the thread passes through my flesh and somewhere in the back of my head I’m thinking “Wow this will make a great story.”

I’m particularly pleased that I will remember this as I’m still cross that I don’t remember breaking my leg when I was three ’cause that was really cool and my leg bent at a funny angle. It’s very unfair I don’t remember breaking my leg especially because my brother says that when you break a limb it heals to be stronger and so my chances of ever having a broken leg again have been reduced by 50%.

I get a day off school to recover and I traumatise my little sister for years and years with slow graphic descriptions of watching needle and thread go through flesh.

Even at eight everything was material to observe and absorb to use for later and my technique for any kind of trauma or scary thing is “this will be useful material”.