I’m torn…

… between appropriate post titles today.  A few I’ve been noodling over:

  • “We make plans and God laughs”
  • or “Blogging about our vacation 24 hours pre-departure somehow jinxed us”
  • or “Friday the 13th reared its ugly head and we simply fell victim to it.”

Whatever the reason, we didn’t go on vacation.  The minor firework incident I referred to last weekend may have been a tad more serious than I at first realized.  And when my foot started swelling and all sorts of goo began oozing out of it (apologies for the graphic description – at least I will spare you the photos), we realized that flying out to Mexico with a possible burn infection probably wasn’t our smartest move.

So, off to the ER we went last night.  Relatively speaking, it was fairly painless.  Got there at midnight, a nice chat with (and bandaging from) the burn unit, and by 2am we were on our way.  Being told that I could “under no circumstances” get this diseased-looking foot of mine in the water?  Not so painless.  Especially considering the itinerary of our trip consisted entirely of 4 straight days of lounging pool-side and getting this increasingly preggo body of mine buoyant in the ocean.

After seeing my despondent face upon the “no pool/ocean/beach” orders, the nurse attempted to make me feel somewhat better by mentioning that I COULD walk on the beach… if I wore socks and went no where near the water.  Fabu.  The only vision stranger than a very white preggro woman knitting on the beach is one of her limping along the waterfront in her socks.

I feel terribly because had I just gotten it checked out early, we probably could have avoided this fiasco.  I could have been bandaged up days ago and this schnasty-looking foot could be sitting pool-side right about now.  But I didn’t.  And it sucks.  And there’s nothing I can do right now… except let the hubs sleep in a bit this morning (the trooper let me sleep in the ER while he got me blankets and bottles of water while we waited for the burn unit), hope that the bagel with cream cheese I get him at the corner deli makes him forget all about the pool-side brunch waiting for us in Cancun, and promise myself that I will never, EVER, again count my vacation chickens before they hatch.

I’m sparing you the “before” photos – the “after” photos aren’t nearly as gnarly…

And I do believe the appropriate penance for my recent lackadaisical attitude towards pedicure maintenance is to post photos of my feet in all their ‘seriously-needing-some-pedicure-love’ glory.    Apologies for that too…

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