I had fallen asleep last night for twenty minutes when my back woke me up. I've been having "worser" trouble than usual for a few days, so I wasn't surprised, just aggravated.
I took a "half a pill" and went back to bed. So, I was reading when Daughter came in the room, hobbling, white as a sheet and crying. "Mama, I hurt my foot."
I looked down and she had certainly hurt her foot. I told her to lie down across my bed and hollered for Husband, who was still downstairs.
The Little Piggy that cried wee wee wee all the way home had a reason to cry. On Daughter's right foot, that particular piggy was sticking straight out, over the edge of her foot, as though the other piggies had pushed it.
We got ice, taped her toe back together with its siblings and made her eat crackers so she could take a whopping dose of ibuprofen.
She called the doctor this morning and was given a four o'clock appointment. Then they called back and changed it to eleven thirty. The time of that call was ten fifty, and Husband was gone to town in her car. Our car is in the shop, plus I don't think it was wise for she or myself to try driving. So the doctor's office changed it to three fifteen, then called right back and said it would be Wednesday before she could be seen!
We immediately called another doctor Daughter had used, and that office couldn't see her until tomorrow at four.
I know the emergency room will take three or four hours.
So, she settled for tomorrow.
The funeral of one of our long time doctors, who passed away this weekend, is this afternoon. I suppose all the offices are closing and attending the service, which I think only right and proper.
But I wish The Poor Little Piggy hadn't slammed up against the door frame.
Maybe tomorrow we'll find out if he's broken or if he just got his snout out of joint.
Meanwhile, ibuprofen, here we come.
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