My Birthday Saga, Part I

My birthday weekend began with chocolate covered strawberries and ended with chicken parmesan.  Thanks to FringeMan, it was pretty much perfect.

In the quest to accept another number and a few more gray hairs while keeping my sanity dignity intact, I hosted a Pampered Chef party on Friday night.  There’s nothing like kitchen-ware to make a woman feel young.

So not true, but it was fun to host a little party and watch as another woman cooked white chicken chili in my house.  For a moment, I knew how it would feel to have my own personal chef – Pure Unadulterated Bliss.  I could handle not having to scrounge through the cabinets at five-thirty wondering what in the world I’m going to create for dinner.

After everyone went home and  FringeMan and I finished consuming the leftover strawberries, I sat down to remove my sock and slipper.  Yes, I did wear slippers to my party, but in my bad-fashion defense, my foot tried to put me in one of those motorized scooters before my thirty-seventh birthday.  It swelled up like a plump tomato ready to burst through its skin on a sunny day in August.  It was hot and it hurt.  Did I mention the pain I ignored until ten o’clock at night?

A lump seemed to be forming on the bone about a half-inch under my toe, but it was hard to tell.  The swelling camouflaged any specific cause.  After elevating my foot with a bag of frozen vegetables on top, FringeMan thought I should go get it get it checked out.  You see, we had plans to go away on a little overnight the next day.  For my BIRTHDAY!

So I went.

Holding my foot in his hand, the doctor ran through a list of diseases that ranged from allergic reactions to a cyst that may need to be drained.  I stopped him briefly at flesh-eating disease.  You don’t utter words that may cause my skin to drip off my bones twenty-four hours before my birthday.  I think there’s an oath about that.

In the end, the doctor said, “I don’t know what it is, but your foot seems pretty pissed off.”

A pissed off foot – my official diagnosis.  So I went home armed with ice-packs, Advil, and a prescription for antibiotics in case my flesh began melting, or eating, or any other devilish pre-birthday verb.

I know you’re wondering what my foot looks like now…the swelling is gone, but I’m left with a hard knot on the top of my foot and it still hurts.  I’ll have to call and make a doctor’s appointment, but for a few more minutes, I’m going to hope that it disappears as quickly as it came to dash my hope of buying cute shoes for my birthday.

Remember these?

Seychellis Asterisk Tan/Red

I didn’t buy them.  Yet.  I’m waiting on my foot before I send $67.99 sailing through the internet.

On Saturday, I did manage to find something fabulous though, but alas, I’ve used too many words.  You’ll have to wait for My Birthday Saga, Part II.

Thank you for all the warm birthday wishes.  I am blessed.

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7 thoughts on “My Birthday Saga, Part I

    1. the domestic fringe Post author

      In the doctor’s defense, my foot was badly swollen, so it was difficult to see a cause. I’m sure he wrote something more scholarly on the paperwork, but I think the “pissed off foot” diagnosis was pretty spot on. 😉 It’s actually already getting much better. Thank you!

      Reply

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