My husband doesn’t have a broken foot.
I know this because this morning he announced that his doctor was going to see him at 3:30 today. I was a bit confused, as my husband appeared healthy, so I questioned him on why he was going to see his doctor.
Him: About my foot.
Me: What about it?
Him: I think it might be broken.
Me: You’re walking fine. What are you talking about?
Him: Well, I actually hurt it a couple months ago and thought I was broken…
Me: Oh! This is your car washing injury!
Him: Umm, yeah.
Ok, so this comes from the man who went to the urgent care clinic (which is essentially an unglorified emergency room) to have a hangnail — that he knew was a hangnail, mind you — removed a few years ago rather than wait to try to get in to see his doctor about it. And yes, in a fit of pregnancy hormones, it’s possible that I may have blamed him and people like him for driving up the cost of health insurance for the rest of us responsible folks. Apparently, something sunk in.
So he made a doctor’s appointment. He still sees the doctor he saw when he first moved up here before he ever met me, two residences ago for him. That translates into about a forty minute drive to see him. Purely because he’s too lazy to find a new doctor. Personally, I could find a new doctor in way less than the hour forty it takes to drive there and back, but I digress.
Apparently the issue has been bothering him for two months. He’s been playing baseball every weekend with no complaints and everything else. And after he didn’t mention it the second day, I sort of assumed that it had healed and was no longer bothering him. Really, if you think you have a broken foot, how long do you wait to get it taken care of? Yeah, I didn’t think anyone waited two months, and I appreciate your affirmation of that!
But no, apparently his car washing injury merely resulted in some joint issues where something in his foot pops in and out of the joint. We know this not because the doctor took and X-ray or MRI or anything else to determine this but because my husband described it to the doctor for about two or three minutes — his words, not mine — and the doctor made the diagnosis. And the verdict is that apparently this is something that he’ll just have to get used to. I rest my case for finding a new doctor.
Oh, so you wanted details on how he injured his foot washing the car?
Yeah, me, too. I’m almost sorry I wasn’t there. Really, it’s not too exciting a story. He didn’t trip over the hose running to save one of the wee ones who had run into the street after a ball. He didn’t slip on some soap in the driveway and just barely manage to catch himself before falling with a feat of athletic prowess. He didn’t have the car start rolling on him because it had been left in gear and roll over his foot.
Nope. He was waxing the car, actually, which technically isn’t washing it but whatever. And he squatted down to get the silver shiny part of the tire (yeah, I’m all about the cars, can you tell?). When he did that, something popped.
Yeah, I giggled, too. In fact, I’m giggling again as I type this. My poor husband!