Getting the boot

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Getting the boot

By D. Barbara McWhite – June 29, 2010

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I walked into a suitcase and broke my little toe.

You see, what-had-happened-was, my husband and I had gone out of town for the weekend. When we returned on Sunday night, I was tired and left the suitcase on the floor of our bedroom, intending to unpack it later.

I walked past the suitcase a few times on Monday, and on at least one occasion The Voice warned me to move it, lest someone come around the corner and hit their foot.

I even argued back with The Voice that I knew the suitcase was there, and that if anyone crashed into it, it would be my husband. Umph!

I'm sure you can see where this is going. The next day... suitcase still there... CRASH...broken and dislocated toe.

What you can’t imagine is the pain. It cuts through you like a knife, reducing you to a wild, hissing animal. Crying! Screaming, "Don't touch me!"

The pain is comparable to the last phase of labor, where even noise and the human touch are unbearable.

Then off to the doctor with my toe sticking out to the side and swollen to twice the size it is normally. It was ugly. The doctor x-rayed it, pronounced it broken and dislocated and set out to fix it.

The cure was to get two shots in the toe and the doctor pulling on it like a fiend until it popped back into place. It was even more swollen by then.

Then came the boot. The big, ugly Frankenstein boot that I have to wear until the toe heals. Needless to say I don't go out much.

I wish I could blame someone else for this, but I can only blame myself.

Sometimes life whispers to us a warning. To stop. To change course. To slow down. To let go. To turn around. To get out of the way. To move something out of our way.

And when we don't listen, we are often left to pay the price. When we don't heed the warnings life sometimes gives us, we sometimes get… well, …THE BOOT.
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D. Barbara McWhite grew up in York County, S.C., and lives in Orange Park, Fla., with her husband and cat.