I awoke this morning with a very sore foot.

Very, very sore.

And red.

And swollen.

It was a big niggly yesterday, and last night it kept me awake, particularly as the night progressed.

But this morning – OOOOWWWWWWWWWWW!!!

Hurty, hurty, hurty.

Oh, and wouldn’t you know it …. we have Monkey Boy’s gymnastics competition this afternoon and people coming over for dinner this evening. People coming over half an hour after comp finishes, which is a 20 minute drive away.

Ring doctors (not terribly hopeful) and get a morning appointment.

Grumpy does the morning stuff with the kids, whilst I head off. Then he drops the kids to me, at the doctors, while he goes in search of food for dinner this evening.

Monkey Boy, ever the compassionate and helpful (no, really, he is, I’m not being sarcastic at all. Really, I’m not) sat and cuddled me, asking bazillions of questions about my foot:

“Where does it hurt?”

“Why does it hurt?”

“How did you hurt it?”

etc etc

“Are you crying, Mummy, why are you crying?”

He gently carasses my very sore, swollen foot.

And I nearly hit the roof.

F*** it HURTS!

“I’m sorry, Mummy. Why does your foot hurt?”

And off we go again with the questions ….

Godzilla, happily playing in a corner, wanders over, and sees my shoeless foot resting on a chair. Obviously bored, and wondering what the fat foot is about, he gives it a squeeze.

Not a gentle one either.

Then cried, becuase, well I screamed and then cried myself.

Then the doctor came out, and gave me a rather concerned look becuase I had been sitting in the waiting room crying.


Not sure what it is, could be one of several things, inlcuding gout?????????

Although that is more common in middle aged and older, alcoholic males.

Of which I am not. Although some days, I do feel like one (tired, uncoordinated and mumbling a lot) and look like one, because I haven’t done a clothes shop for myself since sometime in the early nineties.

Had to wait for Grumpy to get home to get my drugs, becuase I was unable to walk.

He felt it best to prepare most of the meals for the bbq this evening before relieving me of any pain.

Until I explained that the coroner would believe me when I explained that he had “accidentally walked into the knife I was holding 17 times. I don’t know how, but he did. Really”

Off he went.

Ah, relief. When it eventually kicked in, that is.

Off to gymnastics comp, then home to finish preparing for the bbq.

Side effects of drugs: nausea, stomach cramps, dizziness


Nausea and dizziness kicked in.

Got through a rather pleasant dinner, while the kids (six of them) kept themselves entertained in a room at the other end of the house.

Chatting about what we’d all been up to, when somene asked what I’d been doing with myself, as I appeared more “relaxed than you have been for ages”

Ah, yeah, that would be anti-inflammatories and a half glass of sauv-blanc.

Finished up the night, walked to the front of the house to round up and offload all the kids that weren’t mine, and discover the room entirely covered in teensy polystyrene balls, which were once contained in Ikea flat packs and converted into creations by my two kids.

Then reduced to “snow” to go with the trains. Apparently a bit of a bad winter on the Island of Sodor this year.

Care factor? Zero

Off to bed …

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