About 4 weeks ago, I sprained my foot. At least, that's the diagnosis I personally came up with, and as there were no professional opinions involved, there's a slight possibility that I'm wrong. However, for the sake of keeping this blog entry short and sweet, we'll just call it a sprain.
Injuries like this happen occasionally to us athletic types. On that fateful day 4 weeks ago, I was employed in the physical activity of napping on the couch. Since I am a trained athlete in the sport, I have incredible endurance and can keep at it longer than most-- even with my legs twisted in a way that cuts off blood circulation. Beginners, do not try this at home. Anyway, even after such a lengthy session, I decided that I still had enough stamina to walk over to the computer, a full 3 and a half feet away. Well, this is why it isn't good to strain yourself more than you are physically able: as soon as I set my fallen-asleep-foot down on the ground and stood up, there was a huge CRACK! and I was down. The pain was excruciating, but of course, athletes are able to withstand greater physical pain than most. I sat on the ground, cradling my foot and blubbering like a baby.
Obviously, the next step in attending to an injury is deciding what to do. For this, I needed my dad's opinion, as he is the most left-brained member of our family: He's an accountant. I know that accountants aren't necessarily capable of giving medical advice, but they are able to do very difficult things like math and playing minesweeper, which is good enough for me. Immediately he started asking me questions, with his "very serious" face that makes him even more credible:
"So you heard a 'crack'?"
"Does it hurt?"
After this initial examination, he had to do some more thinking, during which time I tried to keep my whimpering down to a minimum. After several "hmm"s and narrowing of eyes, he started again:
"Is the bone sticking out?"
"But you heard a crack?"
"Hmm. Well, if the bone's not sticking out, it's probably not broken."
I stared through tearing eyes at the lump the size of a golf ball throbbing on the side of my foot.
"It's probably a sprain."
The thing about being in a family that isn't medically inclined is that nobody really knows what a sprain is, but it always sounds like a pretty good answer, so no one contests it. As far as I can tell, it's when something hurts really bad, but it's not broken. Anyway, the verdict was to not take me to the doctor, with the most heavily weighing arguments being that 1) it was really late, 2) it was really cold outside, and 3) I was already in my pajamas. So with enlightened mind and throbbing foot, I decided that the pain would probably be gone after a good night's rest.
Well, it's a month later and the pain is still there, but it has gotten better: I hardly feel a thing unless I run, jump, lean, go on tiptoe, wear my black shoes, or have Kelly Clarkson lyrics stuck in my head. Maybe this isn't a good thing, but I think it's too late to see a doctor. Besides, it's really cold outside.