Foot Gash

With a thundershower predicted today, and no shorts to wear that were even semi-clean, Phil headed out to do laundry. No building progress. The few drops of rain we did get could have been worked around, but you don't know in advance. And clean clothes are always a treat.

When I went to make dinner tonight, I pulled a jar of stock out of the little overflow refrigerator. Apparently it was dialed down too low, since the jar had frozen and cracked into about ten pieces. I carefully disposed of the shards in a trash bag, and set the beg near the door to take out when I was done with dinner.

Horribly, I went to get some cheese for Phil's tortilla soup and must have jabbed my right foot right on a shard, right on the bunion area. It spurted almost before I could think, but I got to the shower and rinsed the wound, compressed it, and sent Phil for Arnica. (After he brought it, he took the trash bag out.)

It's the deepest cut I've ever had, definitely through both layers of skin, but it's not ridiculously long (probably under an inch), and the idea of heading to the hospital didn't seem worth it. It hasn't been bleeding, despite occasional walking, so I'll check it again in the morning and see what needs to happen.

I've decided I'm not a great patient. Since I'm usually the one saying, "Oh, that looks pretty bad, but it'll be okay," when there's no one to say things to me in a strong, calm, soothing voice, I get stuck in a mental rut of, "Subcutaneous fat, blood, burning, ouch."

I have always hated broken glass.