I scooped up my 18-pound, 3-month-old son — bouncy chair and all — and charged up the stairs in my stocking feet. My wife Stacey was rushing to straighten up the house, her sister would be here in a few hours, and I was late for work again. I needed to finish getting ready and would have to leave the boy upstairs with Stacey.
I had gone up five steps when she appeared at the top of the stairs. “I need him downstairs to feed him,” she said. I pivoted mid-stair and was about to charge back down again.
Then my foot slipped.
My kid was fine; I managed to hold on to the seat and keep the boy from falling. But my foot didn’t fare so well, because I landed toes-first while breaking my fall.
Three broken toes and five days later, here are a few observations:
- Toes turn such spectacular colors when they break. They start out as this deep blue-purple; from one previous broken-toe experience, I know they’ll turn more greenish and sickly-looking as they heal.
- Doctors can’t do much to set a broken toe (they didn’t fit me with some kind of tiny plaster “toe cast,” because such things don’t exist.) Ordinarily, the doctors would tape the broken toe to one of the unbroken ones to stabilize it as it heals, but I broke too many of them for that to work. Instead, I’m wearing a special bone-immobilizing boot that looks a little like something from an X-Men movie, but dorkier.
- My older son (2 years old) has decided he should occasionally kiss my toes to help them feel better. He really is a sweet kid.
- My dog, on the other hand, makes my toes hurt like hell when he stomps right on my toes while dashing past me.
- “Lame Duck” is now my nickname at work, and it’s the best joke on my last name that I’ve heard in years.