comfort measures

I feel like such a fool. I jumped to conclusions and I put the horse before the carriage. What else are some of those old sayings? I jumped the gun. I counted the chickens before they hatched and I was positive I broke my toe before I went to the doctor for the x-ray. Then I posted about it as if it were a done deal, only to find out this morning that it is in fact not broken, but instead, dislocated, sprained, bruised pretty badly, tortuously sore.

I seriously could barely walk on it for two days. A friend let me borrow her walking boot to stabilize it and keep if from getting bumped. I took pain pills and felt it throb like a bazillion nerve endings on fire.

I limped into the doctor’s office sure that the x-ray would show a break but the gal [Dr. Olson’s daughter] who took the x-ray said she didn’t see a line . . . well maybe an eensy teensy little hairline. She would go ask the PA. Won’t you have a seat and wait in this office? In comes the PA. Same story. Probably not a break, but be careful, take it easy. Do lots comfort measures.

So, I thought to myself: I’m already in Evanston, and that’s a third of the way to Logan. I should just treat myself right and head down to baby Easton’s house. I didn’t have a toothbrush, a change of clothes, any make up or hair stuff. But here I am, on their computer, in their house, enjoying the darling itty bitty.

Again. Three weeks in a row!

Surely they are sick of me.

But Doctor’s orders! Comfort measures! What’s a grommer to do?