CRUNCH

Friday morning saw me up bright and early... actually, grumpy and early. I had to go back to work and wasn't too thrilled about it. Thankfully, I was home by 1 PM and looked forward to a nap.

Or so I thought.

[Before I continue this saga, I must explain that my dad has muscular dystrophy and uses an electric wheelchair that weighs (with him in it) around 500 to 600 pounds -- a monstrous mechanical thing that creeks perpetually.]

I was about to eat a late lunch with my family in the living room, and had returned to the kitchen for a drink. Dad was in the kitchen getting his salad, and didn't see me (or wasn't paying attention to where he was driving -- as the walls in our house will tell you). He backed up over my right foot and a horrifying CRUNCH and scream from yours truly quickly ensued.

My ever dramatic mother heard my scream of agony and ran into the kitchen screaming in unison with me. Her first thought was that I either burned myself or cut myself (my favourite methods of self injury), but she soon realized that Dad had flattened my foot. Let's just say you don't want to be around my mother when someone hurts one of her children -- she will shred the perpetrator into confetti (even if it was just an accident).

Mom insisted that I go to the emergency room to get my foot x-rayed. (I must admit, that were it not for my mom, I'd probably never visit a doctor or go to the emergency room.) I kept trying to convince Mom that I was fine and didn't need to go anywhere, but in the end she won and I spent my entire afternoon (and early evening) at the hospital.

It had to happen, I guess, since I've been making annual trips to the ER since I was 14.