I was rushing through the grocery store. I was rushing because I hate my grocery store on Sundays. I was also wearing sandals. Let’s add to this equation the fact that I am extremely clumsy. These factors don’t add up well. Thus, I whacked my pinky toe on the wheel of my cart.
I saw blood. I couldn’t tell how much because my toenails happen to be red. I was pretty sure the toenail had partially ripped off. Ugh. But I sucked it up and kept shopping. I truly hate the grocery store on Sunday.
When I got home, I informed my husband that he would have to check out the damage. He looked slightly disturbed by this, but we headed upstairs. He cleared off the bathroom counter and I hopped up.
Hydrogen peroxide cleaned it up pretty well, but he had to take a Q-tip to the dried stuff. I winced and turned away. I tried to stay chatty and keep my eyes averted. The toe began to throb. I knew I was talking loudly, but that was better than tears.
My doctor gained confidence as he worked. He was gentle and sweet. We agreed to leave the nail where it was for now– I wanted to avoid kicking my dear husband in the head. He bandaged me up and kissed my forehead. Then he told me I’d been tough.
It was a small ordeal in the big picture, but it meant a lot to me. I married a sweet, sweet man who loves me very much. He loves me enough to get 4 inches form my toe to wipe the dried blood off. He loves me enough to inflict pain in order to make me better. And he may end up having to pull off the remaining portion of my toenail– but I know he’ll do it if I ask. I just hope I don’t kick him in the head 😉