I wrote the majority of this blog post whilst coming down from the high of having used Nitrous Oxide. I in no way condone or promote the use of drugs, illicit or otherwise, for any purpose other than that for which they are intended. Drug addiction is a real and serious problem, and if you have any concerns regarding yourself or someone else, please seek professional advice.
This post also contains images that may be upsetting to some people.
People who don’t like toes.
I’m a big believer in blogging organically; a post should not just be written for the sake of writing.
Usually this is not a problem for me, as more often than not, I have far too much to say.
This weekend that was not the case, and as IBOT loomed closer and closer, I feared I would have nothing to contribute to my own link up.
Thankfully, as is my life, drama unfolded, and the crisis was averted.
I’m really glad I never, as a crazy rebellious teenager, ever tried drugs. I think I would have become addicted.
I have what can only be described as an unhealthy appreciation for them. One that I am well aware of, and forces me to exercise reasonable self control.
Except, of course, in the event of pain. Then I become a grumpy, miserable mess that should be medicated for the good of the world.
So when a spur of the moment camping trip led to a spur of the moment toe injury, the laughing gas was the only light at the end of a very sore, crooked tunnel.
Of course that’s not why I did it.
No, that was the result of my extreme un-coordination in walking to the toilet, and kicking my foot on a rock. The kids were of course devastated, cause it meant we couldn’t go swimming, and our plans to leave after lunch were moved forward to leaving as soon as Boatman could stop laughing at me long enough to pack everything away.
I was given the important job of sitting in the sun, supervising, and feeling sorry for myself whilst drinking a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc at 10:00 in the morning. (It was the only form of pain relief we had.)
The extent of my injury was some subject of debate. Whilst I immediately jumped to the conclusion that it was broken, Boatman was rather more reserved and suggested it was just dislocated.
He even offered to relocate it himself for me. An offer which I politely declined.
Rather, we headed home, and he dropped me at the door of the Royal Darwin Hospital, so I could enjoy the public holiday madness there.
Thankfully I didn’t have to wait too long until my name was called, and I could hobble inside to the triage area. The general consensus was dislocation (much to my dismay). The consolation prize, a portable canister of nitrous oxide amped right up, and strict instructions to ‘take long deep breaths. ‘
You don’t need to tell me twice.
As the male nurse left me to my devices, I sucked away at the gas, gazing happily at the RDH ED sticker on the bed across from me.
It wasn’t long till the nitrous filled my entire body, and my head felt light, my arms and shoulders tingly, and there were pretty lights everywhere. As I sucked away and climbed the heights of drug induced euphoria, I composed in my mind the most wonderful blog post ever. I even started to giggle at the sheet brilliance of it!
If only I could have caught on camera the wonder of the thoughts in my mind, I’m sure it would have gone viral.
It was the epitome of all blog posts.
Unfortunately Straff (as read in my drug induced haze) and the doctor returned, with talk of ‘just pop it in,’ and my blissful state was tinged with slight apprehension.
The doctor asked me how the drugs were working. I can’t remember my exact answer, but it was obviously complimentary enough that even stony faced Straff cracked a smile and declared I had had too much.
And then told me to keep sucking.
The doc clicked my toe, which was painful, and then I waited for the pain to ease as I had been promised.
‘hmmm,’ he said. ‘Does that hurt?’
‘It did when you moved it, and it hurts when you touch it… And yeah it actually really hurts a lot!’
My voice sounded weird and deep from the gas, and I forgot to try and keep my mouth closed, not having had time to brush my teeth.
‘Yeah. I think it’s broken. I didn’t feel it click. ‘
‘So you straightened my broken toe?’
‘Yeah. Sorry about that….But at least you got the gas!’
I believe my exact response at that point was ‘Yes! I win!’ Obviously the up side to a broken toe, lots of pain, and the devastating heartbreak at not being able to continue bridge to 10k for a few weeks, is being able to say to my husband, ‘I was right! Na na na, na na na!’
Which just goes to prove that I am not a complete drama queen.
I’m just an uncoordinated blogger who will apparently do anything for a story.