Our insurance changed with the job changes and I'm glad. Our office visit co-pay went down $5 just in time for us to go in twice in the last week. After our visit to the hospital for Harrison's minor surgery two Fridays ago, he was back in last Tuesday with a broken finger. I truly questioned even going in. He wasn't complaining, but the bruising and swelling looked pretty bad. Needless to say, he was not excited about going back to the doctor after his experience with the surgery.

During his time in pre-op, he was fairly calm. He fooled all of us. However, when it came time to put on the mask with gas, he freaked. His screaming brought both Chris and I to tears. He was so scared. The anesthesiologist apologized afterwards - as if it were her fault. It was that bad. So bringing him back to a doctor, a mere four days later, was almost cruel. He got a little nervous in the x-ray room, but overall came through like a trooper.

That brings us to last Saturday - the big party. I looked pretty good. My hair calmed down. My outfit was semi-flattering, even slimming if I stood the right way and sucked in enough, and I was in a good mood. Until I decided to be domestic. I was hurrying around trying to keep busy because the sitter was here, but Chris was not ready. This particular sitter is extremely shy - oh hell, she's mute. So making glib conversation with her is pointless. She's great with kids, but not with adults. So I decided to take out the trash. As I was taking the bag out of the can, it caught on the edge and the heavy, metal IKEA can came crashing down on my big toe.

It hurt. A lot. I winced and waited for the pain to subside, but it didn't. Until I drank wine. I actually wore heels to the party and was so excited to be in a social setting that I didn't notice the intense swelling and pain down below. When I finally laid down after midnight, I was well aware that my heart had inexplicably moved into my big toe. The throbbing was very distinct and heartbeat-like. The next morning it was pretty clear that something was wrong. I googled "toe injury" and learned that I probably had a subungual hematoma. Treatment: DRILL HOLE IN TOENAIL. Over. My. Dead. Body.

I suffered all Sunday with intense pain. I waited for it to subside, but it just got worse. Parent Teacher Conferences were yesterday and I wore Birkenstocks with dress pants. Yes. Really. With socks to cover the purple mess that is my left big toe. After hobbling around for hours, I finally decided that I had to go to the doctor. I whined, begged and groveled for lenience. That's when he told me that he had just done this procedure on a 5-year-old two days prior. LIKE I CARED.

It didn't hurt. I know that's what the doctor told me, but I wasn't just going to take his word for it. The smell, however, was unexpected. He used a drill - on my toenail - and it burned my nail. Then it bled for about three hours.

I feel better, but still have a lot of pain. It's not broken. (Of course I was in an X-ray room for the second time in seven days) It's just badly bruised.

Things could be worse - it didn't ruin my party!