Life Lesson

How Many Toes Does One Have to Break Before They Learn?

Keeping myself safe was not one of my strong suits

Breaking a bone is no laughing matter — prevention and precaution are essential — unless the cause is so ridiculous or absentminded, there’s no way to see it coming.

The first time I experienced breaking a toe was after I was kicking a chair in the middle of the night when my cat was fussing in the kitchen. Upon getting up for the third time to see what her problem was, which I never did find out, I kicked my foot in her direction, foolishly thinking it might keep her quiet.

Instead, my big toe kicked the leg of a chair. Ouch!

Having never broken anything before, I didn’t recognize the feeling that went through my body, which was one of shock.

This happened in the middle of the winter. None of the shoes or boots I owned would fit over my poor, swollen toe. My remedy at the time was to cut a hole in one of my shoes to make room for it.

It was a long winter, and I went around for months, on ice-cold and snowy days, with my now-socked toe sticking out of my shoe. It wasn’t pretty, and I took a good ribbing from co-workers over it.

Another time, I was bounding down the wrought-iron spiral staircase in my old apartment with a basket full of dirty clothes on my way to the laundry room. Barefoot. I always took my shoes off by the door, then very often forgot to put house shoes or slippers on.

I misjudged how curved it was until my fourth and pinky toes split around one of the posts on the railing as I hit it at full speed.

Once again, I knew. That feeling you get in the pit of your stomach like no other. My fourth toe was broken and turning purple. This time, I was lucky enough to have it happen during the warmer months and could wear sandals.

The worst one was during a camping trip.

After it had rained for most of the day and then had a temperature drop, we started gathering wood for a campfire. Most of our wood was under a tarp and dry, but not enough to get us through a chilly, damp night.

As campers, we knew people left cut wood behind when they vacated their site for home, so we set out to scrounge some up. I found a huge, wet log on the ground a few campsites away, which is probably why none of the other campers snatched it up.

I carefully carried this monstrosity of a log back to our campsite, and as I was about to slide it out of my arms near our small, sizzling fire so it could dry off, it slipped out of my hands and dropped right onto my big toe, then bounced off with a thud!

If you’ve ever broken something, you know the feeling. First, there’s this, “Oh, $%@!” feeling as the bone breaks, like someone just punched you in the gut.

Then the shock wave goes to your head as you get the real pain, which happens a few seconds later, and you want to heave.

I knew immediately that it was broken. The pain was horrendous. I had just dropped a 35-pound log on my toe, without proper footwear, while on a camping trip. What a stupid and careless thing to do.

Of course, it got worse, as is the case with any break. At first, it’s painful, but then the affected area swells up and turns a few shades of purple, and if it’s a toe, you can’t get a shoe on, much less walk.

So, here we are at the campground, with every step sending a painful jolt up my leg. After taping it to the toe next to it, there was nothing more I could do except limp around for the next few days, trying to finish the trip without missing a beat.

That meant keeping a campfire going at night, cooking dinner for the kids, packing everything before we left for home, driving, unpacking, and putting stuff away — all while in sandals, risking another injury.

It was rough, meandering through the days, but at least the bone wasn’t broken all the way through, and it was summer. I didn’t need to wear closed shoes or boots, and I’m a real trooper when it comes to pain — I can take a lot of it.

Watch out for my toe.

About a week after returning from our camping trip, we had a birthday celebration to attend. One of my best friends was hosting the party for her oldest son, and she had asked me ahead if I would help.

As she had three children who were close in age, all boys, she needed all the help she could get. In hindsight, being still very uncomfortable, I should have bowed out of helping and just stopped by with a gift.

But, no, I gingerly — well, not that gingerly, as I still had a broken toe — arrived at her house early to help with decorations and putting food out.

While entering the playroom with a tray of cookies in my hand, about to put them on the large table she had set out, one of her kids, not the smallest or lightest of the three, jumped off a chair and landed right smack dab on my big toe.

I let out a howl that would have made a wolf run scared.

The pain was excruciating. This time, I almost passed out. It was bad, and I knew it. I left the party early, as I could barely walk.

Imagine already having a painful, sensitive, swollen toe in the process of healing, and then someone lands on it with all their weight.

Saying it was painful doesn’t even begin to describe it.

It was a long night, with my toe throbbing for hours and the pain so bad it was emanating through the top of my foot. No amount of aspirin numbed the pain.

Time for an X-ray

By morning, I wasn’t sure of the extent of the damage. Hopefully, it wasn’t rebroken. It was swollen to twice its size and looked bent. Now, it was time to visit the doctor, which I normally do not do for simple breaks, colds, and such.

We had a medical facility in the building I worked for, which gave me the incentive to drive to work despite the pain I was in. I told the doctor I broke my toe without going into detail. After taking the x-ray, the doctor looked at me confused.

“How many times did you say you broke this toe?” he asked.

“Why? How bad is it?” I said, fearing the worst. Was the bone squished, in fragments, or split in two?

“Because you have one of the strangest fractures I’ve ever seen. It looks as if you have a healing fracture and a new fracture along the original.”

He continued, “The first break was about halfway through the bone, and the new break is about three-quarters of the way through the bone. Were you aware that you re-broke it?”

I certainly was, but I was too embarrassed to tell him the story of how I was stupidly carrying a heavy wet log without wearing proper footwear, then attending a party with my toe exposed, and the overweight kid jumping on it.

He showed me the x-ray.

“I kind of figured as much,” I said, hesitating to tell him the whole story, which I eventually found myself doing.

“I think it’s time to protect it now. What do you think?” he said, as he reached for gauze and tape.

“Yes. Maybe it’s time to do that.”

The toe healed, but not as quickly as I would have liked. It was months before I could wear closed shoes again, but I learned my lesson.

Proper footwear should always be worn, especially where there’s a danger of dropping something on it.

Then, of course, protect a toe that’s already broken, skip extra activities and commitments until you heal, and — at all costs — avoid big kids standing on chairs!

Here is a story I enjoyed reading this week.

Conni Walkup Hull

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