Stretching It.

As you undoubtedly know by now, children, your bloodline is cursed with both severe injury-proneness (Clark side) and extreme clumsiness (Lemieux side), which, we can all agree, is not the best combination for people with limited health insurance. Perhaps these traits should have been a warning sign against our having you in the first place, but we just figured if our genes were that awful they wouldn't have come with the velcro-like substance that allows them to stick together and form new humans*.

Anyway, just in case you thought you were the only ones who ever had to sit on the sidelines** icing your hips while all your friends had a raucously good time, here's some evidence to the contrary.

You see, your grandfather has stress fractures in his feet. And now as part of his recovery, he has to do elaborate stretches every day instead of running around the house and playing outside.

(Does he have to do them on the dining room table? I don't ask.)

*My understanding of genetics is cursory at best.

**Of the Scrabble court

A Trip to the Podiatrist's (Dramatic Reenactment).

As promised, children, I write to you today with an exclusive report on my experience at Dr. Lavell's office. Because I felt uncomfortable bringing my camera into the examination room, I have crafted a dramatic reenactment of what occurred. Please note that in this reenactment, the part of me will be played by Kringle Bear, the part of Dr. Lavell will be played by me, and the part of the syringe will be played by this meat thermometer*.

The Syringe (as portrayed by The Meat Thermometer)

So I went into the office and sat in the examination chair, prepared for the worst: that my foot would never heal, that I would never walk again, that the doctor would noticed I stopped shaving the hair on my big toe YEARS ago...

Brenna (as portrayed by K. Bear)

After a brief examination and some questions, Dr. Lavell said he thinks I have (drumroll)... a neuroma**! This is good because it means my stress fracture is healed. And also because it's treatable! So he did the first treatment by injecting Novocain into my nerve.

The Injection

But he also said I have bunion-prone feet. Good thing I got married when I did -- who KNOWS what these babies will look like in a few years. So anyway, things are much happier around here. I could be walking normally in as little as a week or so.

Oh, and I got a bandaid for my trouble.

*Why do we have this? I don't know. Possibly some well-meaning relative slipped it in the silverware drawer when I was out tending the herb garden.

**In an earlier draft, I accidentally wrote "a neurosis." Thank god I'm super-paranoid about rereading--wouldn't want such a factual inaccuracy to be on the blogosphere for all of eternity. Hahahaha!!!1!11

Resting My Foot.

As you may remember from several months ago, children, I currently have a bum foot. ("Why hasn't it healed, do you think?" "Probably because she don't eat meat." [Shakes head.])

Because I don't know why it's not better yet, I have decided to take action. Specifically, the action I take will be to use one of my two annually allotted doctor's visits (thanks, individually purchased health care plan) to see a podiatrist. TOMORROW.

Juicy details to follow, I promise. In the meantime, I'm trying to stay off the feet as much as possible.

And perhaps a bit more than possible? (Insert dramatic anti-gravity music.)

Spare Us, Lord.

Moving is one thing. Packing up all your earthly possessions, schlepping up and down the stairs carrying furniture like a pack mule. But doing it as a gimp is the pits.

 Your dad and I had to ice our injuries after just an hour of moving stuff downstairs. But he wouldn't let me photograph him because he said, "My chest hasn't seen the light of day in years," which was not an exaggeration.

Oh, and here's the forecast. Thanks, future.