My Left Foot

I have a hairline fractured left foot. How I got it, I have no idea. On Tuesday evening I got off my bed and my left foot hurt. It was swollen and partially numb. I didn’t recall banging it, or hurting it. Who gets a fracture sitting on their bed, watching a telenovela? I panicked. Had a poisonous insect bitten me? There are countless ways for pests to enter my apartment; I might as well be living in a tent. I went to sleep, hoping it would get better. Sure enough, it got worse. While at work, I plugged my symptoms into Web MD, which convinced me I was dying. I could have cellulitis, or a blood clot. Since the probability of needing money for a new apartment is near zero, I went to my expensive celebrity Upper East Side Dr. who treats Jim Carrey, Oprah, and me (his token loser). “Your foot is black and blue. Didn’t you notice?” “I’m nearsighted. My apartment is dark. I couldn’t see that far.” “You have a hairline fracture.” “How did I get it? I didn’t feel anything. I was sitting on my bed, and when I got up, it started to hurt. How does someone break her foot by watching TV? It wasn’t even an action show.” “Do you exercise?” “Yes, but I don’t recall hurting myself. Am I so insane as to not realize when I injure myself?” “Yes.” “I was afraid it was a blood clot, or I was dying.” “You’re not dying.” “Since I’m not dying, I might as well buy more supplements.” Three hundred dollars later, armed with omega 3, antioxidants, vitamin D, acidophilus, and multivitamins, I limped home in the rain. All those Tasti-D-Lites and skim milk lattes and I still get a f**king fracture. Maybe it’s time to buy the calcium supplements that taste like chocolate or caramel.