The Agony of De-Feet

Emma had gymnastics at the Little Gym tonight. On the way in to the building, Wade opened the door on Emma’s big toe, breaking the toenail and, judging from her bloodcurdling screams, every bone in her left foot. Thankfully, there was a hospice nurse in the building with an unbelievably well-stocked first aid kit in her trunk. She fixed Emma right up, and even sent us home with tape and gauze and sterile water. Emma was hurting, but she was more upset about missing gymnastics than her injury, so I was not worried. Wade, on the other hand, was convinced that she was going to be immobile for weeks on end – no soccer, no dance class, no playing on the swingset, etc.
The minute we got home, Wade was on WebMD researching “nail injuries”. This did NOTHING to ease his fears about our firstborn’s “big pig” just falling right off of her foot, so we decided to take her to the children’s urgent care center near our house. After careful examination, the doctor there decided that the best form of action was a bandaid and a little Neosporin. I asked if he would mind wrapping a little gauze on top of the bandaid, just so Emma would have some padding there in case she bumped it during the night. And because I paid a $35 copay and spent three hours at this place and I wanted more than a bandaid to show for it.
On the way back home from the urgent care center, we passed the Little Gym and Emma said “You know, that’s where the accident happened.” I said “Yes, I remember.” She got quiet for a minute or two and then said “Boy, Mary is going to be really sad when I can’t play with her for a while…because you know the doctor told me not to walk for a few days.” Now I suppose it is possible that I blacked out during Emma’s visit with the doctor, what from the sheer pandemonium following "the accident", but for the life of me I do not remember Dr. Darvesh giving those orders. So, I suppose Wade and I will let her milk it until she forgets her self-imposed bedrest, or until our backs give out, whichever comes first.