It Takes a Village...

...to correctly diagnose a fractured foot.

October 14
7:15am: High heel catches in an all-too-typical Cairo hole in the street. Ankle collapses. Somehow, I stagger to catch my bus to work. By the end of the half-hour bus ride, ankle is twice normal size and a dark blue hue, though I still had grand illusions of a speedy recovery in time for afternoon ball hockey.

10:05: School doctor examines said ankle, fears ligament damage or bone breaks. I am sent to the hospital with a driver for an x-ray. I'll spare you most of the details, but let me just say, I'm fairly certain my ovaries are now fried. Apparently, Egyptians do not believe in the use of "protection"- at least where x-rays are concerned. Within an hour, I re-emerge complete with a ridiculous plaster cast wrapped entirely in 3 rolls of ace bandage. Diagnosis: no fractures, just a sprained ankle.

October 15-20
Foot is painful, blue, and swollen. Hematoma in the toes of my casted foot= dark purple toes.

October 21
Night clinic (more on this later) visit to an orthopedic specialist who takes one look at the gargantuan cast on my foot and laughs "no one casts for this kind of injury anymore". He then proceeds to flirt shamelessly with me for the duration of the visit"If you are a teacher, I want to go back to school", "How old are you? I can't even touch your foot, that would be child molestation!" Down, tiger.

Another x-ray ensues. I wise up and demand the leaded apron, or whatever it is. X-ray says: fracture in the 5th metatarsal of my right foot. Treatment: ace bandage and no activity for at least a month. BOO!! And there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

November 9
Nearly a month later, said foot is still swollen, slightly blue, and hurts like heck.

BLAH.