A Big Lesson from a Little Toe

Tonight marks the one-week anniversary of the breaking of my toe. I will not be celebrating. It's the little toe on my left foot. Also known as the pinky toe, it's not a big deal, one would imagine. Certainly not worthy of sympathy. Nobody would send flowers for such a thing, or a card, or even ask how you're doing. Which is why it has been such a shock to me that a broken pinky toe could wreak such havoc and all but ruin, or at least greatly dampen, my good time on a six-day Florida vacation. And believe me, my husband has also borne some of the brunt of this toe thing, since it's his vacation too and there has been much complaining within his earshot. I am guessing that by now he hates my broken toe, and might even have disdain for all the rest of them as well.

A simple stubbing of the toe happens to all of us at one time or another, and does not merit attention beyond an "Ouch!" or utterance of a few four-letter words. I knew right away this was much more, and I also knew that when the pain never subsided and the toe went from greenish to bluish to blackish, I was in trouble. But what could be done? Leaving on a jet plane just two days later, nothing. So I took my toe with me and here we have been all week, lying in the sun together, unable to run on the beach as planned, or even walk on the beach looking for seashells, without wincing that is, or hardly walk on the pavement when necessary or put on a shoe. (Thank God for sandals.) The question arises: How was I ever in a bad mood back when I didn't have a broken toe?

God bless all your toes, if you have them, and if they are not broken. In fact, anybody with fully operational body parts should be the happiest person in the world. That's what I have learned from this experience.