This is just me, rambling on about my sensitivity to recent happenings in my life and the life of my friend.  You are forewarned, this is going to be a three part expose. For various reasons, I have found myself in a state of suspended animation regarding my life. I no longer am a teacher–after being an educator for 36 years. Yes, I love children and I miss the exchange I had with the middle school students during my last seven years as their Language Arts instructor. Now I am caring for my two grandchildren–which is giving me great joy.  In between times when they are off with one parent or the other, I attempt to write my thoughts and meanderings.

Last August, while the children were in the backyard, playing on the swing set, I was on a mission to curtail the invasion of the lilac roots, that seem as gargantuan and worrisome, albeit beautiful in the Spring, as the baobab trees on the planet of the Little Prince! I labored arduously on the roots—and with such intensity with the shovel that I managed to dislocate the second toe on my right foot!

However, having been born into the stubborn heritage that I was, post two months of icing and home care, with unsatisfactory results, I traveled to the doctor in October. An x-ray was taken. The physician on call said it was NOT broken –just bruised–and suggested ICING! Of course, feeling vindicated, I left the health service.

However, several months passed, and I was still limping along, although not quite as bad as Chester in the 1950’s Matt Dillon cowboy show. Finally, I had another x-ray in February. The Foot Doc told me unequivocally, “It is quite obvious your second toe is dislocated.”

Yikes! Then the worry set in. I have many steps to walk before I am finished on Mother Earth!

He suggested I return home and ice it for two weeks and then return to see him.  I thought to myself, “I have iced it for over five months already!” Regardless, my better sense was buried, the inborn elevation of the status of doctor in my brain kicked in,  and I did what he said.  Of course, now knowing it was dislocated, only added to my limp!

I returned to the Doctor two weeks later, and he said to me, “Well, your BIG toe has arthritis. You should wear orthotics.”

I thought to myself, “What about my dislocated toe?”

The doctor continued on, speaking about WHY the foot inserts in their office were superior to Wally World’s (my name for Wal-mart, and a sign of my great displeasure at having to shop there occasionally, when I have to decide whether to drive 50 miles more, consume more gas from our already beleaguered Mother Earth, to find what I want at another store or cater to the greedy establishment that underpays its workers!)—(pardon the digression).

Meanwhile, I am thinking to myself, “What ABOUT my toe?”

Very soon the disruption that I was feeling inside of my body, exploded out of my mouth in a torrent of words: “What about my dislocated toe? I may be 65 but I am NOT dead! I intend to run the Boston Marathon next year. I have two grandchildren I am running after 24 x 7! The last time I visited you, you said my second toe was dislocated.”

His response, “Well, many of the folks who come in here are sedentary and I didn’t know if you planned to lead a sedentary life.You know, sit back and read.”

Then my boiling temper went off, “No, I don’t know! (In response to his, “You know…”) I may be 65 but I am NOT dead! I intend to live to 121! and I am a very active person and not about to roll over and die!” To say, I was peeved, is to put it mildly.

Then he interjected, “Well, I can give you an injection that will reduce the swelling.”

I am thinking in my head, “MY toe is DISLOCATED! So what will an injection do to move the second metatarsal back to its proper location?”

Again, I was sidetracked. I succumbed to the injection, which was as painful as hell, and then I bought the orthotics, and left his office dismayed with my dislocated toe!

Part II –continuation of the sorry toe saga…and my irritation at society’s response that gray hair equals DEATH!