Posts Tagged "doctor"

The Best Reason to Quit Your Job Immediately

Dear Kid,

As I have mentioned more than once, wildlife belongs in the wild.

This is Part II of my Foot Saga. Here’s Part I if you’ve forgotten.

We left off with my foot swollen and painful and with my trip to Urgent Care having been less than diagnostically successful. After I picked up the fabulous prescription cocktail the physician suggested, I went over to the high school for the soccer game.

Never mind the pain of trekking 92 miles from the parking lot to the stadium stands.

Why are they called “stands” if one sits in them?

After about 3 minutes, soccer mom conversation turned to my foot (which was by then doing its impression of Moby Dick). Soccer mom medical consensus quickly determined I had been bitten by a spider. Possibly twice.

Someone saw a spider in the office. Obviously, now I have to quit my job. DearKidLoveMom.comDid I mention the pain started in the middle of the afternoon while I was at work? Did I mention that WILDLIFE BELONGS IN THE WILD AND NOT UNDER MY DESK???? Obviously, I have to quit my job if spiders are going to be allowed on the premises.

Yesterday I was somewhat better what with my friends at Walgreens helping me live with reduced pain through the miracle of prescription chemistry. Still swollen, still painful, but better.

After several more people weighed in on the Diagnosis of Moi including a relatively long (and terrifying) discussion of the possibility of an attack of brown recluse spiders—ick—I learned that Mark-whose-desk-is-near-mine saw a wolf spider not too long ago. Why he didn’t report this, I have no idea. I haven’t completely ruled out a hungry walrus as the culprit, but no one’s seen a pinniped in the office recently, and they don’t hide nearly as well as spiders.

So the building people are bringing in an arachnid eliminator. Which is really fun to say (go ahead, try it. I’ll wait…See?).

In honor of the exterminator, I’m introducing Pick Your Own Cliché Time.

  • Locking the barn door after the horse is gone.
  • An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.
  • A stitch in time saves nine.
  • Die, spider, die.

Every cloud has a silver lining. In this case, the silver lining is a two-blog story.

Feel free to add your own appropriate cliché in the comments.

Love, Mom



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My Foot, Urgent Care, and a Very Hungry Walrus

Dear Kid,

Sons of many b*****es.

I'm pretty sure I was bitten by a hungry walrus. There must be an outbreak of them in our office....DearKidLoveMom.comI had Quite A Day yesterday.

It started out harmlessly enough.

I made coffee without spilling a drop.

I backed down the driveway without hitting any native wildlife.

I drove to PT without causing any breaks in the time-space continuum.

All good signs, right?

Then Kyle the Physical Therapist set to work. As I believe I have mentioned, Kyle is part sadist. A large part. Most physical therapists are. As in

Me: That hurts!
Kyle: Yep. I don’t believe anything we’re going to do for the next half hour is going to be particularly comfortable.

It’s the grin as his says this that gets me.

Once Kyle decided he’d inflicted sufficient torture (and by “inflicted sufficient torture” I mean our hour was up), I headed off to work.

The car in front of me took the Last Reasonable Spot in the parking lot, leaving me to hike from a spot 2½ miles away. Partway through my trek to the building, Dad called.

Having been ignored all morning, my cell phone got 3 kinds of excited at the incoming call and literally leapt out of my fingers.

In all the years (4,873 to be exact) I’ve owned a cell phone, I’ve never (as in not ever) broken a screen.

Streak over as of yesterday morning.

Wait. It gets better (and by “better” we all know I mean much worse).

Around 1:30 or so, I got a small cramp in my foot. NBD, right? Wrong. I walked down the hall to a meeting, a little annoyed at how uncomfortable the cramp was and a lot annoyed that it wasn’t un-cramping.

During the meeting, it got worse. So I took off my shoe and peeked. (OK, I had taken off my shoes the minute I sat down. Habit.)

My lovely narrow foot was no longer either. It was swollen, disfigured, and painful. Really painful.

Following the (blessedly short) meeting, I walked to the car (and by “walked” I mean somehow managed the 4½ mile reverse journey while putting minimal pressure on my foot) and drove to Urgent Care.

Where I learned that “Urgent” means “please enjoy our lovely waiting room for a really long time.” A really, really long time.

Long time.

Eventually I saw a doctor who decided to list a whole bunch of scary options and take an X-ray.

Even without a trip to medical school I knew we needed an X-ray. I’m pretty sure I could have done without the list of scary options.

Post X-ray, we agreed that nothing was broken, my foot hurts like (censored), crutches might be an idea for a day or two, and a handful of meds might be in order.

Apparently the “Care” part of Urgent Care means “I dunno but I’ll try to make the pain stop and you should follow up with your Primary Care Physican.”

It’s possible that the morning’s PT caused the problem. It’s possible that dropping my cell phone caused the problem. It’s possible that I was bitten by a hungry walrus.

It’s even possible that someday I’ll be able to put shoes on again.

For the record, it’s 6.78 miles from the parking lot to the soccer stadium seats.

Love, Mom

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