Storytime: My Donkey Foot

The summer of 2016 I went to a birthday party at my friend Jesscy's place out in the country.  It was a costume party themed on Neil Young songs and lyrics.

As if all that wasn't silly and awesome enough, there I met my very first baby donkey, just a few months old.  Her name is Ruby and she was the cutest, fluffiest little donkey I could have possibly imagined (having never previously bothered to imagine what a baby donkey would look like).  She was rocking a magenta feather boa.  It was a costume party and all.

Ruby is ready for the party.  

I wanted to hug her every time I saw her.  Which I did.  A lot.  She was a perfect height for hugging and a real sport about it.

There I was, hours deep into the shindig, heart-melting as I hugged this fuzzy angel and when I pulled away she took a step and stumbled, as toddlers might.  And stepped right on my bare foot.  Oooooh, boy.  Let me tell you, even a baby donkey has some heft to her.

Oh, the pain.  The instantaneous Oh-No-I-think-I-Just-Broke-My-Foot pain.  It was shocking and excruciating.  Ruby meandered away sweetly to find someone else to scratch behind her ears and I hobbled off to (curse and) lick my wounds in the privacy of my vehicle.  I called my friend Val for a sympathetic ear and she talked with me until I got myself back into some semblance of calm.  Then I limped back to the party and did my best to pretend it hadn't happened.  I didn't want to ruin the fun and unless I was going to stop and drive to town right then and there, well, there wasn't much I could do about it.

The next day I convinced myself I was being melodramatic.  It couldn't actually be broken...just bruised or something.  It was swollen and discolored, but I could walk, er hobble, on it.  Painfully, I'll admit, but I could get around.  I didn't think it could be both.

Let the record show that Matt tried to get me to go to the doctor several times, especially when it was a month out and I could still only bear to wear one particular pair of shoes because of the lingering (but diminishing!) pain.  At that point I figured it was too late to do much good, plus I am sort of a boss at coping with pain since I suffer from it chronically with my arthritis.  So I didn't have it checked out.  I just gimped through my days until I could walk without a limp again.

Part of me regrets that, but honestly, I'd probably do the same thing if it happened all over again.

Isn't Ruby just GORGEOUS?!?!  Don't you wish you could hug her?!?!?! 
Photo credit to Jesscy.

So, when I say that Ruby broke my foot, there are no x-rays or anything to back up that assertion.  This is just my assessment.  I think it was the third and/or fourth metatarsal bone or possibly the related cuneiform slightly higher up the foot.  Of course, I am not a doctor, but base this on how it felt, looked, and functioned.

That was an interesting couple of months which followed.  For a week I couldn't wiggle my toes.  I learned to cycle with only one pedal for a brief stint.  I wore that one pair of shoes every single day.  I whined, but not too much or Matt would threaten me with the doctor again.  :)

Three years later my foot is fine.  It doesn't hurt, but occasionally I still experience discomfort, most notably when swimming.  It occurred to me during the IronBear challenge, for example, that I almost never do a standard flutter kick with my feet.  The up and down motion is unpleasant on my left foot.  It doesn't hurt, it just doesn't feel like everything fits together quite right either.  Matt tends to think that "discomfort" is just another word for pain, but they're totally different in my book.  My foot is fine.  I basically never think about it at this remove.

I think this story is hilarious.  I love to tell it.  I mean, if one is going to have an injury the least they can get out of it is a good story.  I just recounted the tale of my donkey foot two weeks ago, in fact, for Ruby's new owner who happened to be at Jesscy's most recent birthday party.  This year the theme was All That Glitters--dresses that look like disco balls, sparklers, a unicorn pinata...that gal knows how to have a party.  While we were there Matt told me, no less than twice, to be careful around the pasture where the hinnys/horses/donkeys/mules/anyotheranimalthatcouldbreakmyfoot were hanging out.  I could tell he was half joking, but there was a portion of sincerity there, too.

And I am happy to report that I walked away from this party without a limp.