Injured Toes & Red Sauce
Funny — for years, I always had beautifully painted toe nails, always a pedicure. And then one day this past spring, my ten-year-old David smashed into me in our hallway, excited to hand me my phone: Someone was calling!
Who knows who called, because David accidentally slid into and then stomped onto my left toe so hard that it began instantly to swell and turn purple. I recalled that my father and my sister had lost toenails over the years and I DID NOT WANT THAT TO HAPPEN TO ME.
For a week my entire foot ached. After two weeks, I was still in pain. The toenail appeared to float atop a blueish liquid. I bit the bullet and paid for an expensive urgent care doctor to drill tiny holes into my precious toenail in order to let out the seepage and — hopefully — save my nail. The elegant doctor stroked her thick brown hair and reassured me it would work. Spoiler alert: it did not fucking work. I went back a week later, paid yet again, drilled yet again, two gaping holes in the beautiful smooth large toe nail atop a bloody and bruised landscape below.
For several more weeks, I felt pressure and sometimes pain. And then, months after the initial injury, my eager, lovely, rambunctious ten year-old slid over to his mama to share some good news, inadvertently stomping again on her toe and this time dislodging the nail for good. Holy motherfucking shit!
Surprisingly, it was a relief to have the toenail off at long last. Nothing left to worry about.
Now, polish gone, my long slim toes stripped bare, my feet still look beautiful to me. How nice. I find fault with my stomach, my face, my hair, wrinkled skin… but my feet? I love my feet.
Today, at the supermarket, I put two jars of tomato sauce into the top ledge of my shopping cart. The first jar immediately rolled out of the hole meant for a baby’s leg and crashed painfully onto my toes before rolling across the aisle. I barely had time to think “Well at least thank God it hit my toes and didn’t smash open when it fell (P.S. I pray my toes aren’t broken)” when the second jar rolled out and, missing my poor beaten up toes, headed straight for the ground.
Smash! The jar shattered and red sauce splattered everywhere. Maybe I should feel ashamed that I simply left it where it lay, turned around, and walked resolvedly out the door, limping slightly and wondering whether my toes would swell to something more serious.
This day had been strange and stressful — I went to this neighborhood store because I had just made everything for my kids’ dinner and then realized last minute we were all out of red sauce and I would need a couple of bottles to complete the dish.
But I had been given a clear message to get the hell out of that store, so that is what I did. I went instead to Target. There, I got a better sauce at a better price and went home to serve my kids their pasta and meat sauce. Late, but at least they are eating, and now I can put up my foot and ice my beloved toes.
