Roger’s Toe Tally
Let me start by saying: for once, this is not a story about me
doing something wine‑fueled and questionable. This time, the chaos crown goes
to my husband Roger.
A few years ago we’re at my neighbor’s house — we’ll call her Judy
to protect the innocent. We were there for a game night. Now, Roger is not a
big drinker. One, maybe two cocktails and he’s done. But that night? Oh no. He
went full frat‑boy revival and drank six rum and cokes. SIX.
We get home, go to bed, everything was as usual… until the middle of the
night when Roger gets up to use the bathroom. And in the dark, in his rum
fueled glory, he absolutely stubbed his toe on the bench at the foot of our bed
like a blindfolded runner doing a 40 yard dash. He told me the next day it hurt
when it happened, but he went back to sleep anyway, like nothing happened. Of
course he slept… he had 6 drinks in him!
That morning he tells me the story, At one point he even tried to blame
the bench for “jumping out at him,” which is when I knew the rum was still
lingering in his bloodstream. He shows me the toe and of course it’s bruised,
swollen, looking like it was auditioning for a zombie movie, and I, being the
seasoned toe‑breaking veteran that I am, said:
“Do you want to go to the ER and pay the $90 copay so they can x‑ray it
and tape it to the next toe… or do you want me to tape it for free?”
Because I have broken five toes in my lifetime. I’m practically a
podiatrist at this point. And the last time I broke one? I dropped a full
bottle of wine on my pinky toe that broke the wines fall, and MY toe, at my
friend’s house. We took my shoe off to look at it, and it swelled so fast like
a balloon animal being inflated by a magician on speed. I couldn’t get the shoe
back on. I had to take a cab home barefoot like some kind of wounded
Cinderella. Went to the ER for the 5th time, and guess what they
did?
X‑ray. Tape. “Have a nice day”. Just as they have done the 4 previous
times.
So naturally, I thought I was giving Roger solid medical advice like a two-buck-chuck
shady discounted online medical service. He chose the free option. I taped it. We moved
on… or so I thought!
Over the next two weeks, Roger hobbled around the house like a man
reenacting every war movie injury scene ever filmed. Every time he stood up,
he’d let out this dramatic sigh like he was about to deliver his final words.
Meanwhile, I kept reassuring him with the confidence of someone who had
absolutely no business being this confident — “It’s fine. You’re fine. It just takes time to
heal. Trust me, I’m basically a toe mechanic.”
After the weeks went by, he was still in pain. And not just toe pain. But
part of the foot started turning black and blue too and the entire foot was swelling
also. That’s when even I said, “Okay, maybe this is something more than just a
broken toe, and we should go to the ER.”
We go and they x‑ray it. The doctor comes back looking like he’s about to
deliver a eulogy. Turns out Roger didn’t just break his toe. He destroyed it.
The bone snapped in half. A fragment broke off. One piece of bone was
sitting on top of the other piece. And it had already started healing wrong
because “We waited two weeks”.
Who knew it was broken that badly? Clearly not me (the toe expert). Roger
looked at me, blinked and then gave me a look like he was mentally drafting my
obituary and listing “terrible medical advisor” as the cause of death.
So now he needs a specialist. And surgery. And instead of a $90 copay, he
gets hit with a $450 bill. Guess who got the look of this is 100% your fault
and you know it, after the bill arrived?
Yep- than would be me, the doctor of toe regret!
I felt terrible, and it was all because he listened to me. The woman who
once took a cab home barefoot in the rain, because her wine bottle committed an
act of violence.
Ta‑da! Another day in the Furman household.
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