So there I was, oh shit!
This is one of those stories. About a month ago, I was having a terrible mobility day, but there I was at PT, forcing my brain to make my body go through my exercises. A bad mobility day includes what my doctors refer to as myoclonic jerks, where my whole left side will randomly toss me on the ground. (yes, it's about as fun as it sounds). I move much more cautiously, and even more slowly, then my normal sloth-like pace. It's as if I can feel my brain trying to find new pathways to get these muscles to move. Now that I'm thinking about it, I imagine it's the reason my days can be so variable. There is a lot of work being done, to form these new neural pathways.
Anyways, I diverge from my original story, and there I was,fighting with my body to move, I'd gotten through many of my exercises, and had just finished my 'lazy man' sit-ups, where I sit on a big excercise ball, lean back maybe 45 degrees, and twist my torso, as well as a 15 lb. weighted ball, left, and right. I don't doubt it helps me in some way. I refer to it's a lazy man sit up, because I do that 45 times, and rarely feel I've exerted myself in any way. My PT says I'm doing the movement correctly, but I'm not convinced. My belly resembles the Pillsbury doughboys, and I do 45 sit-ups 3-4 days a week. I guess that means I should do more...It's just one of those things, that obviously bothers me.
I completed my sets, and carried the weighted ball over to the shelf it lived on. In doing so, that pushed a 15lb chunk of iron (kettle bell) off the the shelf I was standing under. It lit me square on my big toe. My whole body became tense , and I grabbed a nearby machine for support. I couldn't speak, the pain was so intense. It's like my primal response, I can't really use my words,until I can realize I'm not actually dying. That's probably an exaggeration, but that is still how my brain operates, one pathway, at a time. I'm sure most people never have the opportunity to make these comparisons, but I think about it all the time, like when I'm walking with someone, and trying to focus on where to put my feet, maintain my balance, and thinking about the movement patterns for my mouth, and lips to formulate each word I want to say. It's the same going out to dinner, too. I'm thinking about the physical process of chewing my food, swallowing it, and listening to whomever's talking, while deciding if I want to contribute to the conversation. I love to eat out, for the food, but the social aspect of it, is generally on the overwhelming side. I am happy going out in situations where I don't feel pressured to talk, because I can't always get my words out, at the normal rate of conversation. And, I have to take a break from my meal. I never used to think about the intricacies of daily life tasks, and now, this is part of everything I do, wherever I go.
In the moment, the toe didn't appear broken, just way painful. I got a ride home, and put assorted frozen items on it, to reduce the swelling. Around 6pm, I decided the ibuprofen wasn't cutting it, and I couldn't tolerate the pain. My roommate/aide brought me to the walk in clinic, where a doctor affirmed a frracture. He then, drilled a hole in the toenail, to dlieve the pressure, and the pain immediately subsided. I'd hoped to not lose the nail, but, a couple weeks back I noticed it had begun to detach from the back. I just left it alone, assuming it would detach when it was ready. Although, last week, I became suspicios, of infection, when the foot began yo smell like, what I'd to refer to as death. I set about inquiring for doctors appointments this week. The podiatry office I called, offered me an appointment in May, and my general practitioners office, said Monday. This where I lose my better judgement, and removed the dead portion of the nail, with scissors, and used tweezers to pluck out the obviously foreign body, that was the infection. I put a bunch of rubbing alcohol on the wound, and headed to find the neosporin. As I sat back down, and peeled the bandages out, I peered more closely into my open wound. My stomach clenched a bit, as I realized, I was seeing, an open cavern, and my my big toe bone. I can only assume the alcohol burned away the necrotic (dead) tissue, but what an unpleasant sight. I filled the open space with neosporin, and called it good. I bandaged the toe up, and thought I'd be good to go. Apparantly, my bandaging skills are shotty, because it came off, in my sleep, and I got up, to repeat the same process. Upside, as of today, the toe is still alive, and appears infection free. Downside, I may have unwittingly unleashed trauma upon whoever takes it upon themselves to read this entry. (Cackles) My deepest apologies...
Side note, please do not lecture me on my home medical practices. I am fully aware, my unsanitary methods, may, or may not harm me. I'm not recommending others try my lunatic adventures in 'home surgery'. This is just how I work, and I'm aware there are risks, so here's to not getting gang-grene!