They're just toes...

It's a whale of a tale I'll tell you lad...

[DISCLAIMER: If you are tired of hearing about my toe...then you're probably my friend.  And...if you're tired of hearing about my toe, then you probably should stop reading right now, go outside, and find something else to do.  (I don't care if it's midnight...scoot.)  This is my show, and I'm going to write about what I write about...today I'm going to have the cathartic experience of throwing out there my feelings about my toe, in an effort to continue letting go.  Call it therapy...]

2012 was a year of changes for me...it ended with a few major losses for me as well.  Well, let's face it, the darn thing started with a loss.  I had been working for a doctor I really enjoyed working for and learning a lot and then due to circumstances beyond my control, he left...moved away.  My job became one that was not fun at all...and I went to another clinic...which subsequently closed a few months later.  (perhaps I'm the killer of clinics...who knows?)  Then I went back to what I knew...the nursing home.  I like it there, but it wasn't the same.  Some of the residents were gone...the attitude and the vibe were different, and while it was okay for a while, there was an underlying current of stress that could be felt everywhere and it wasn't the same anymore.

All of this led me to take the biggest leap perhaps of my life, and pick up my stuff and move.  Ok, I wasn't moving to Australia or Siberia; I moved to Tulsa.  I decided to move where my brother and his family lived so that I could be around Ellarie and help out with her and get to know her better.  The thing is, without all these losses, I wouldn't have gone anywhere.  I HATE change!  I HATE the unknown.  I just stay in my comfort zone and that's that.  But I didn't this time.  I left everything...the theatre I loved more than anything (another loss)...and moved. 

It wasn't without challenges.  I was in a big hospital, on a busy floor, doing a new job.  Not the same job in a new location...NOPE...a completely different job basically.  I had soooo much to learn!  Thankfully I had an excellent teacher to help me along the way.  (Not that I don't still have sooo much to learn because I do!)  It was a good change though.  I was enjoying my job and definitely enjoying all the time with Ellarie.  But, the move wasn't without its challenges.  I missed my friends like crazy!  I missed the theatre even more!  Here I had my brother and his family and one other friend (and then a friend in OKC).  My other friend in Tulsa has a lot going on, so it's kinda hit or miss with him but it's fun when it's a hit :).  My friend in OKC also has a lot going on and a family, so it's again kinda hit or miss...plus a 90 minute drive.  I spent a lot of time at my brother's house, but then I started thinking what if they were just too nice to tell me to go away.  What if they were regretting me moving because I was there too much?  (I don't think that's necessarily the case but you know, when you're trying to acclimate those thoughts come up.)  So, I went through some rough lonely times.  Still really go through them sometimes because it's hard to make friends when you're a little fish in a big pond.

Anyway...the BIG loss happened the day before Thanksgiving 2012.  I was supposed to work the next day and subsequently the two days after that.  Family was coming into town, but they hadn't said anything enough in advance for me to make my schedule work, so I was kind of annoyed by missing out on the fun.  I had vetoed a house guest because I was going to have to get up early for work for three days and someone sleeping in the living room is not conducive to that.  So, I was kind of feeling guilty for that too.  I was trying to help with some last minute things at my brother's house...basically making Ellarie's bed when I did the stupidest thing I have ever done in my life.  Let me back up and say, I tried to figure out how to pull the toddler rails down or off first so that I would have more access, but I couldn't figure it out, so I crawled through the little space at the bottom.  When I went to step off, I stepped on the wooden plywood step stool my brother had fashioned and clearly not reinforced for the big folk.  I remember my brother saying, "I didn't build that for you" right before it folded over like a cardboard box with an elephant on it. 

I remember thinking I smashed my toe...like pinched it.  I looked down and it was bleeding so I tried to hurry off the white rug because clearly that's bad, and went into the kitchen.  I said joking, "someone needs to find my toe." I honestly thought it was just smashed.  And, then I looked down and was a little shocked.  I wasn't sure what I was looking at, and I started looking at it closer...I thought it was folded backwards somehow...but then reality hit....and I said, "No really, someone needs to find my toe 'cause it's not here." 

I remember my brother, slightly repulsed, bringing the whole stool in and saying "here's your toe"...'cause he wasn't gonna touch it.  I remember someone putting it in a baggie with ice.  And then there was a lot of stuff in urgent care and the hospital ER.  Seriously, I sat in ER for something like 6 hours before they decided what they were going to do.  No one did anything that entire time.  (They did tell me several times they probably would not reattach, at which I cried every time.)  I do remember the nurse practitioner when she first got there saying "it might grow back."  We all looked at her like she was crazy because contrary to popular belief I am not a lizard and body parts do not grow back (In her defense she thought we were only talking about a toenail...until I pointed out to her that it probably wouldn't grow back from the bag across the room to my toe.)  We did get an X-ray...and she laughed when she reported that they called to say my toe was broken (um that's an understatement).  She also kindly circled the offending digit in green highlighter and gave me a copy...in case I couldn't remember which one it was.  I actually kind of liked her despite it all.

Then, 6 hours and an iPhone picture later (from the nurse prac to a surgeon) I was being admitted to have surgery on Thanksgiving...not to reattach my toe, but to finish cutting off the exposed bone and closing the thing.  I don't really remember much of that...I know I watched Gone with the Wind most of the night and they kept offering me Ambien.  I kept refusing, thinking I'm not even bothering you so why are you trying to put me to sleep lol...I know they were trying to be helpful.  I'd probably be one of those crazy Ambien people though so I'd rather not do that where I work.  Someone from my floor came by to say hi...or probably really to see what happened...no matter the motive, it was nice.  I also remember signing a consent that included the word "amputation"...oh ya, more tears.  (PS the surgeon was cute!)

I had surgery and broke out of 10East and went to Thanksgiving celebrations not feeling like celebrating, not dressed for the occasion, and on drugs.  I don't really remember any of that. 

I happen to live in an upstairs apartment, so my brother's wife took me in and put me up on the couch and my mom took my dog to Guymon (who consequently probably had no idea what happened to me 'cause I said 'be right back' and never came back).  It hurt...it hurt a lot...the toe.  My emotions kinda hurt too 'cause I knew underneath that perfectly formed foot of coban was not so perfectly formed foot (not that it had ever been perfect).  But, while it was wrapped I could pretend it was still all good...except it hurt.  (By the way, my brother got a big screen while I was there...I pretended it was for me.)

When I left the hospital no one said anything about changing bandages, and I didn't want to anyway.  Under there was something horrible and with it covered it looked normal almost.  A few people kept asking me if I didn't think I should change it.  Finally under pressure, I called the dr's office who basically said I didn't have to but if I wanted to here's what I should do.  I procrastinated a little longer.  (this wasn't weeks and months by the way...even though it sounds like it).  Finally, I mustered up the courage to do it and the alone time to face it without an audience.  I pulled off the bandages...and sobbed...like cannot function anymore crying.  It was awful....It was a monster toe-let...and it looked hideous.  After I stared at it and cried for a long time, I covered it back up and then I laid around and thought about it for hours.  I had had one picture in my mind everytime I closed my eyes, the picture of my mangled toe right after the fact.  Now it had been replaced by a toe that in my mind looked more mangled. 

I have this thing about things matching.  I like even numbers.  I don't like to step on cracks.  I like symmetry in my world.  I might be kinda crazy, but it's who I am.  This is not symmetrical.  I was never going to wear flip flops again ( my staple footwear in the summers ).  I wasn't going swimming ever again.  I wasn't going barefoot ever again.  I wasn't getting pedicures ever again.  Pretty much no one was seeing my toe ever again.  I know that some of you don't have those thoughts...don't see anything wrong with a missing toe.  But, you are not me.  To you it's just a toe, but you can say that as you look down at your full set.  It is just a toe, but it's MY toe...well was.  It was depressing.  And, it still hurt...physically and emotionally.

Then I lost some more....

My dog never made it back to Tulsa.  She died in Guymon around Christmas.  She was 14.  I rescued her from the pound as a puppy and she'd been with me ever since.  She'd been there through the wilderness of Kansas and through nursing school and through everything. 

After all of this, I was kind of angry.  I was mad at my dog for dying, mad at my mom for letting her...mad at Tulsa for existing.  If I'd never moved to Tulsa, I'd still have so much.  I'd still have 10 toes, a dog, and the theatre and all my friends.  Instead I was in this town with no dog and 9 toes and no friends.  Those were my thoughts for a long time.  I still went through the motions of life, but I didn't like any of it.

Clearly there's nothing magical about Tulsa.  I could have just as easily cut off my toe in a freak accident in Guymon and realistically my dog was 14...she wasn't living forever.  I can't blame it on Tulsa, but I sure tried for a long time.  And blamed it on some other folk as well.  But life goes on.

I even got a new dog.  A rescue Yorkie that was found on the streets.  It was almost love at first sight.  I did love him, but the part of my heart reserved for loving dogs was not functional really.  And he was naughty a lot.  He barked at Ellarie at first and she wasn't nice to him either.  He pottied in my house.  He tore things up.  I considered letting him go live on the streets again.  But then he escaped out the door, and I half- heartedly went after him, basically said 'I'm not chasing you,' and figured if he keeps running that's God's way of saying he's not for me.  I went to the bottom of the stairs and said, "Beau, come here."...and he did.  Apparently he's for me afterall.

And we've grown to love each other...and he and Ellarie have grown to love each other too.  He still tears up things though.  I have several books without covers and a box that he's making his way through under the bed.  But...I still like him.  I still miss Princess....but I can't have her back....and I like Beau.  He's healing...and frustrating...all rolled into one.

Speaking of healing...my toe's healed.  It still hurts though sometimes.  The swelling finally went down a few weeks ago and it proceeded to get a blister on the end of it...seriously?  Anyway...that's healed now too.  It hurts before it rains...and when it's raining...Great, a weather-telling toe...like I didn't already have weather-telling knees.  Seriously?  It also hurts after 12 hours of work...but not as bad as it did.

But, perhaps I had an ah-ha moment...a moment where my vanity and OCD took a back seat to comfort because it was hot the other day...and I came to a realization.  It's not growing back...no matter how much I want it to.  It is what it is...I might as well own it.  So, I painted my toenails while Ellarie was watching Tinkerbell.  And then she wanted her toenails painted too of course.  And she declared us "pretty".  So I left the house in flip flops Monday because it is what it is.  I'm gonna spend the next however many years with 9.5 toes...I might as well just deal with it.  Not that I don't still miss it...and my old life.  But the new ones okay too. 

The first picture of all the toes since Thanksgiving.

And besides, who else can tell you, "I miss you more than I miss my toe..." and actually mean it.  Because, dearest friends...I really do miss you more than I miss my toe.