Why I won't be dancing this Valentine's Day

OUCH! It didn't seem like such a major injury when I tripped on the sidewalk this past Sunday afternoon. There I was, leaving the dedication of the new Rohr Chabad Jewish Student Center just off the Tulane University campus, when the front of my right foot caught the edge of a broken piece of sidewalk. Broken sidewalks, especially since Hurricane Katrina are somewhat commonplace in the city. It smarted, but my foot didn't throb immediately or feel particularly bad. On other occasions I had tripped in a similar manner with no lasting ill effects. So, I went home, rested, wrote my blog and offered myself up to Morpheus. When I awoke Monday morning, I noticed a dull pain in the general area of the top of the foot. It wasn't very pronounced, but as the day got longer, it became more of an issue. I began to limp noticeably as I favored the other foot. On Monday night I rested the foot and it seemed to lessen when I awoke on Tuesday. Yet, Tuesday the pain seemed to worsen as I stayed on my feet and in my shoes all day. That may have aggravated the condition. When I finally removed my shoe late last night, it was inflamed, swollen and I could perceive the point of pain as the joint on my toe. I'm not a doctor and I don't play one on TV. But it's my opinion that I have broken my big toe. Later this morning I will confirm my diagnosis with one rendered by a medical professional. In the meantime my toe throbs and pounds and won't let me sleep. Trust me, I don't sleep a lot to begin with, so missed sleep to me is a crisis of looming proportions. If I understand the treatment for a broken toe correctly, it is that there is nothing that can be done other than to confirm that it is broken, tape it, and wait for the upcoming six to eight weeks for the healing process to be finished. I can't wait to start downing ibuprofen and taping my big toe to its adjacent mate. The thought of removing the tape as it pulls on my skin or rips the tiny body hairs out of place seems unsettling, but perhaps won't be as unpleasant as I fear. If there is a good side to this malady, it may just be that I will start wittling away at my medical insurance deductible for the year. Forget the roses, the chocolate and the champagne. I'll be dealing with x-rays, tape, and Aleve. Those may be romantic words to a quick care center or a pharmacy, but ones I had hardly hoped would be whispered in my ear this Valentine's Day.