During the time in which my ankle was starting to heal enough that I could stand to walk on it, I developed another injury: an ingrown toenail.
I’d known that I had had one for some time. I often treated it myself, grabbing some nail-cutters and tweezers and performing my own nail surgery once every couple of months. This was often a success until recently when the toe somehow got infected.
So now I had a painful hippo foot and a painful toe.
It didn’t help that we were now into lambing season, and every day, I had lambs trampling all over it, which as you can imagine is rather painful.
After much convincing and nagging, I finally went to the doctor who put me on some antibiotics for a few weeks (I have a thing about taking antibiotics in that I don’t want to build up an immunity to them, so at first, I was apprehensive).
Eventually, it was time for the partial nail avulsion which is a procedure conducted under local anesthetic. Basically, they numb up your toe and chop about a quarter of it off, removing the section that is ingrown, relieving the patient of pain. After this, they apply some chemical (the name of which eludes me) that is supposed to prevent the removed section from regrowing. There is, however, a 20% chance that it will grow back, in which case the operation can simply be performed again.
I was most upset that the doctor wouldn’t let me watch the operation take place for fear that I may faint, despite my efforts to convince him that I wouldn’t. Instead, I had to assume a ‘relaxed’, prone position while they did their stuff.
The injections were mostly OK, but there was one in what felt like just below the cuticle of my nail that startled me somewhat.
During these injections, the head of on of the syringes actually came off, ejecting a fountain of anesthetic into the air, and into the doctor’s mouth, numbing his tongue.
Some time after this, the doctor and the nurse had a brief exchange about how ‘diddy’ and ‘dinky’ my toes are. I didn’t mind, because I’d rather have small feminine toes than large manly ones, but I felt embarrassed all the same.
I guess I never realised how small my toes are.
When it was all done and dusted, the doctor, upon my request, showed me the section of nail that was removed. I was actually surprised at how large the section was.
I was going to ask to keep it, but decided against it at the last minute.
It was during the period that we call ‘calving’ – so named for the obvious reason that it is the general time in which the pregnant cows (or heifers, to be precise) give birth – that the thing that was most detrimental to my absence occurred.
During the last day of visiting my home for what was only supposed to be a week-end, my mother invited Luke and myself to feed a newly-born calf. Eager to do so, the three of us made our way down to the barn, bottle in hand.
It was just as we were inside, when I, being typically clumsy, slipped over nothing and fell over onto my ankle, twisting it in the process.
In excruciating pain and in a genuine effort to move things along, not realising how overly dramatic I sounded, I told the other two to just leave me where I was and progress with the feeding.
Having never broken any bones and never having given birth, I don’t think that I have ever experienced as much pain as I did in that moment. Furthermore, I was sure that I’d heard a loud crack when my ankle hit the stone floor which was disconcerting, to say the least.
Due to spending so much time in hospitals as a child, while I am not scared of them, I do avoid going to them at any means possible and consequently, I never found out whether my ankle was actually fractured or just sprained. As far as I was concerned, it wasn’t broken because I figured that it would hurt more and because I could still move my toes and therefore it would heal without medical assistance.
Regardless of this, I was still rendered unable to move properly and as a result of this, I wasn’t able to go back to work.
In order to get around the house, I experimented with many means of movement and transportation:
Granted, hopping probably wasn’t the best idea for a person who can’t so much as balance on one foot. I was soon debased to crawling around the house. This was fine, only once I was down, it was difficult to get back up.
At least Luke stayed with me for moral and physical support.
The actual injury looked something like this (it actually got worse, and the picture doesn’t show it very well in the first place, but it shall have to do):
It wasn’t just the ankle the hurt and swelled, but the whole foot and some of the leg. I had the ultimate hippo foot.
Unfortunately, it took a lot longer to heal than I had previously anticipated. Rather than a few weeks, it took a few months and has only recently stopped hurting. In retrospect, I feel like I probably should have had it looked at by a doctor, particularly since hearing that awful crack, but I guess that I was lucky.
Wow, OK, it’s been a long time, everyone!
I have to admit, I’ve been away a lot longer than I’d like to have been. It had gotten to the point where I’d been deliberating as to whether or not I should just let the blog die and have it over and done with – give it a kind death and put it out of its misery – but a part of me always knew that I’d be back.
The truth is that the blog makes me anxious when I’ve not posted anything in even a few days, let alone weeks or months. I get to the point where feel like I can’t write anything at all because I have to catch up on so many other people’s posts and as time goes by, this feeling escalates into a whirlpool of procrastination and anxiety.
It’s more that I feel as if I can’t possibly focus on my own posts when I haven’t had the decency to read others’. It all seems so rude. I feel that I’m probably being more polite than I ought to be, and such politeness is absolutely detrimental.
I’ll say right now that I probably won’t catch up on all the posts that I have missed, but I’ll do my best, a little at a time.
With that said, out with all that negativity, and in with the new posts!
I should begin by reeling off my usual excuse that my internet has been – as ever – compromised and it’s now a lot harder for me to get online. This is due to the fact that I’ve been living back at my parents’ farm again (Luke’s with me) and because of this, I’m feeling a lot better in myself. I finally feel like I’m home and that makes me happy (it may also have something to do with the fact that I am finally reunited once more with my beloved piano).
The reason why we don’t have internet here is because two years ago, some silly cow decided it would be a good idea to unearth and destroy (by any means necessary) the cable which delivers internet to our countryside abode.
Since then, no-one has gotten around to phoning up BT and asking for a replacement cable and that’s why our source of internet is now a silly T-Mobile dongle which is slow and irritating.
This means, much to Luke’s utter dismay, that there is no Xbox live here, either.
But my real lack of posting began back in February:
Luke and I had landed ourselves a job in construction, courtesy of Dave, building a bicycle trail through a woodland park. It was only a temporary job, to last from then until May, when the track was supposed to be complete and ready for use. It was a great job; I got to do all kinds of fun things like driving diggers…
…And driving track-dumpers…
…And carrying heavy things, which wasn’t so fun. A lot of the time, I feel like Dave (who assumed the role of my boss) expected more of me than I was capable.
While the start was early and the hours were long with barely a break, the scenery was great, the air was fresh, and generally, the job wasn’t too bad. The days were either really enjoyable or absolutely dire, but certainly there were more of the former
It felt good to do some hard work and know that I was helping people out, although I often had intense feelings of inferiority, being the only female on the job. I felt like I wasn’t good enough since I wasn’t a burly and strong man like everyone else there.
Despite everything, though, I really did have fun.
The only real downside to the work was that I found myself too tired to write or do anything productive outside work, which was reason for a large part of the huge hiatus in my posts.
Unfortunately, though, the work was cut short and the posting gap was prolonged for reasons on which I will expand in part two~ coming soon!
I’d like to take this opportunity to thank all of you who have been loyal readers, even in my absence. I’ve noticed that I’ve still been having a notable amount of views even while I’ve not been writing anything, and some of you have made efforts to contact me and check that I’ve been alright. I appreciate this greatly and it warms my heart that you all care so much. Thank you for your support and I hope to hear from you all soon (I hope that isn’t presumptuous of me! Truth be told, I’m actually very scared that no-one will read this)! I’d also like to quickly add that I’m sorry if the quality of this post isn’t up to the usual standard. I hope to get back into the swing properly with time.
I still had a lot of yoghurt left that needed using up, so last night, I decided to follow Patrice’s advice and make smoothies! Unfortunately, I didn’t actually have any fruit in the house so I decided to make a trip to Tesco.
I love mangoes but I haven’t actually had one in years so I decided that mango was surely to be the base flavour for my smoothie (they’re also really difficult to draw on Paint. It looks more like a maraca but bear with me).
I actually got two for two pounds, which was cheaper than I had expected. This left me with about three pounds to spend on some other fruit:
With produce in hand, I was ready to head to the checkout. It was only by chance (when Luke decided that he wanted to buy some energy drinks or something) that my attention was drawn to the reduced section in which I came across something that I’d never seen before.
Although I much prefer fresh fruit, I do love tinned peaches and pineapples; I’m even partial to the whole fruit cocktail (in juice, not syrup). Despite my many experiences with preserved fruit, I was surprised to see tinned strawberries – reduced to only forty five pence, at that!
I was excited at this, so I rushed home, diced my mango and chopped my bananas (the oranges were somewhat more challenging but I won’t go into that).
I always have to ask Luke to open tins for me as I can’t work our tin opener and he has a way of doing it.
I hate our modern tin opener. I much prefer the old fashioned ones; they are much easier to work and they do a better job. Not to mention that the more modern openers are often razor sharp and dangerous. I could probably write a whole post about tin openers, but I shall restrict my rambling to this small paragraph.
What we found in the tin certainly wasn’t attractive.
The strawberries looked awful. They weren’t light, stiff and happy as normal strawberries are; they were dark in colour and flaccid. They were heavy and I supposed that if you were to drop one from significant height (about a metre and a half, perhaps), it would be unable to contain its own mass and splatter when it hit the ground (where a normal strawberry would bounce and recover with ease). Truly, a sad thing indeed.
Strawberries shouldn’t be like that; however I can’t say I’m surprised. Being contained in a tin like enclosure like that would depress anyone. Those poor strawberries never stood a chance. Regardless, I put them in my smoothies (their only hope for salvation being a merciful death), but they weren’t exactly the tastiest strawberries I’ve ever eaten.
I should add that I didn’t technically make smoothies after all. I was about to, when I was informed from an outside source (Luke’s mother) that blending fruit isn’t healthy as it releases all of their contained natural sugars (or something like that). Therefore, It turned into some sort of fruity yoghurty dessert which I was fine with.
*I hate that expression, surely it should always be ‘give it to me’ because ‘give it here‘ doesn’t really make sense grammatically – I mean, you can’t give something to an adverb, can you?
This is a pretty strange post and I’m not quite sure how to go about this because I feel terribly arrogant; I’m just going to jump right in and say what I want to say:
I have a friend who just started a blog and he’s feeling somewhat apprehensive about it. Like me, he started writing not for the sake of having a great readership and to achieve blog fame, but to serve his own purposes and vent his emotions.
It’s nice to write but it’s also nice to be read; to be heard; to know that there is someone out there who cares what you have to say – even if they just find you interesting at face level, it’s nice to know that there are like-minded people to talk to.
I feel arrogant about it, but basically, I want you to stop by my friend’s blog, Pink Shell, because I want him to be able to experience what I have. I want him to meet wonderful people and maybe feel a little better about himself and about life.
Like I said, the purpose of his blog isn’t to achieve readers and he hasn’t asked me to advertise his blog for him, I just think that I was somewhat saved by the people I’ve met here and I want to allow him the same chance.
There are only a couple of relatively short posts so far, so it’s not as if stopping by his blog will be awfully time consuming on your part. If you’re really not interested in what he has to say, so be it.
In any case, I realise that this has been terribly arrogant of me and for that, I apologise; however, I think that my willingness to be perceived in this way illustrates my seriousness.
Thank you for your time, sincerely.
Luke was having this conversation with himself in the kitchen earlier:
It actually went on much longer and concluded with him telling himself sternly that he was going to put some sugar up his bumhole. I do worry about him sometimes.
Sorry that this isn’t a real post. I’m having terrible writers’ block lately. In any case, I just thought I’d share this little moment with you.