[Note: An account written after a trip to New Orleans in 1997 and posted in 1999.]
beck and I left mid-day on Monday -- our plan was to drive to Montgomery, leave for New Orleans on Tuesday and from there go to my conference in Mobile.
So, we arrived in Montgomery, checked into the hotel, went to eat, and returned to settle in for the night. Beck opted for a shower while I stripped down to my boxers and stretched out. Then, I decided to throw a few kicks... But first, you must be told that I'm the clumsiest person in the world, necessary info for you to understand what happened next. So, I was throwing kicks at a head high reading lamp that was situated over a low dresser. I remembered that the dresser was there until I threw that very last kick -- an outside crescent kick. Forgetting about the dresser was a dangerous brain fart. My outside crescent snapped up and right into the corner of the dresser, catching me between my 3rd and 4th right toes.
*SMACK*
"Damn, that hurt." I yelled and started hopping around on my left foot while holding my right tightly in my hand. I sat down and peeked at the damage as beck came over to see how badly I'd hurt myself. I glanced at the wound and clamped my hand over it again. Clearly I needed to apply pressure; I'd ripped my 4th toe about halfway off. beck ran around and around the room trying to find something I could cover the wound with while I applied pressure; she came up with her dirty Indigo Girls t-shirt. I wasn't in pain, but I think I was in shock, and neither of us was thinking very clearly. It was 11:30 at night in a motel room in Montgomery, Alabama, I was nearly naked and badly hurt. I sent beck out to find bandages - which took about 1/2 hour. I cleaned and dressed the wound, which had stopped bleeding quickly. I made the (bad) decision not to go to the emergency room until the next morning when I thought it would be easier to find a hospital, etc. My foot didn't hurt and wasn't bleeding, I argued with beck, it could wait.
We went to bed: me hurt, beck mad because I refused to go to the doctor right away, and both of us quite shaken up. Despite that I slept well. I showered and changed my bandage in the morning and admitted that I must seek medical attention. We got a bit of breakfast (so I wouldn't pass out) and drove to a nearby hospital. I was x-rayed (4 of 'em, no fractures) and, about 14 hours after the accident, sewn up. "You're at very high risk of infection here. This is very close to the bone. You're at very high risk of infection. You could lose your foot." The doctor told me as he chided me for not coming in right away. Both he and the nurse assured me that the stitches wouldn't hurt, but that the lidocane she would use to numb my foot would be quite painful. (It was, but the nurse was good and beck was great, so I got through it with a minimum of squeaking and moaning). The doc put about eight stitches in, saying "I left room in a few places between the toes and didn't sew it up completely so that if it gets infected it might come out instead of attacking the bone." He and the nurse instructed me to keep it "very clean and very dry" as they bandaged me up, gave me crutches and instructions for bleaching my socks, and sent me on my way with a poor prognosis for my ability to navigate the French Quarter.
Needless to say, I am not easily daunted. I slept nearly all the way to N.O., with faithful beck behind the wheel. We got into the French Quarter only a few hours after I'd hoped and soon, with a plastic bag taped securely about my foot, we headed for Bourbon Street. beck had never been to the Quarter before and was stunned by the sensory overload. I drug her into a pizza place where we rested and ate. Then we both were in a better state to deal with the stimulation. She took photos and I hobbled around, resting often. The next day I made it all the way from the Monteleone to Jackson Square, stopping often in galleries and shops where everyone treated me wonderfully (and everyone asked me what had happened to my foot, in stark contrast to Mobile where noone directly asked what I'd done). Thursday was gloomy and rainy, so we walked to a nearby McDonalds to eat before heading to the NOMA and then on to Mobile. The pavement outside McDonalds was slippery and I nearly fell when one of my crutches flew out from under me, but here my karate training served me well and I found my ki and stayed on my feet. We took the first table upon walking in and I noted a man a few tables away with crutches I nodded companionably at him, then noticed that his leg was missing. I felt dreadful, how dare I hint that we might be sharing a similar experience. But, he was cool, it didn't faze him. He was a street person. He asked "How'd you hurt your foot?" I told him. "How about yours?" I asked. "Lost it to the sugar." he said. I nodded with understanding. "My dad had sugar." I said. We chatted, a brief forged bond. My relief that I still had my foot was great.
Mobile was rainy and gray. We walked some, but spent much of our time in our hotel room, which overlooked the bay and some interesting transportation systems (big ships, trains that ran under the Civic Center). Both our rooms had great views, which helps if you're in them a lot. And, if you have a good excuse to order room service and in-the-room movies (Boogie Nights). We did go to one restaurant in Mobile twice because of the great food and decor (and it was only 1-1/2 blocks from the hotel). So, despite the traumatic beginning, we had a rather pleasant, if somewhat low-key, vacation.
I'm glad to be home though.
Mary, who should get the stitches out tomorrow.
