I went to visit my brother recently, who has been the recipient of four back operations. He was laying on his couch with a heating pad over his right ankle, suffering from gout, which has further slowed down his already limited mobility.
The day after I returned from the visit, I got up early in the morning and headed down the hall toward the living room. Suddenly my right foot collided with the vacuum sweeper, sitting in the hall. The reason it was in the hall was to remind me that I needed to sweep the rugs, but all I could think was who was that dummy that left a heavy object in a major walkway through the house.
By the time it came to put my shoes on, I couldn't stand to put on any shoes that had any pressure on my toe. Finally, I dug around and found an old pair of oversized shoes that I had bought. They were on sale, but had been seldom worn because they were too big. Easing in my right foot and tying the shoe loosely, I was able to venture forth, looking somewhat like Bozo the Clown with the large shoes flopping on my feet.
By nightfall, my third toe, if you recall the nursery rhyme "this little piggy had roast beef," had turned black and swelled up twice its normal size. The extra blood had spread to the top of my foot, and I was starting to walk like Festus on Gunsmoke, listing severely to the right. Maybe this was just a sympathy move as now both brother and I have very similiar limps.
The vacuum sweeper on the other hand has been relegated to a dark corner of the bedroom, which I sincerely hope is out of harm's way. I am looking forward to watching my foot changing colors in the coming days.