A cautionary tale of why you should not read on the toilet. I’m serious.
My Monday involved a book, a toilet, and a podiatrist.
I dare you to stop reading now.
I had a problem on the toilet that eventually caused me to go see a podiatrist later that day. No, I am not confused.
I do not mean proctologist. Nothing is wrong with my plumbing. Other than my crapper is not the comfiest seat in our house.
And no, this is not the setup for a bad poop joke. (know any?)
Back to the Why You Should Not Read story. . .
Late Sunday night , about 11:30 PM, I needed to use the bathroom. And, like many others, I like to entertain myself while doing my business.
Or distract myself from looking around my bathroom observing all of the things that should be cleaned.
So I am reading and doing my biz and eventually, maybe 10 minutes later, I noticed that my legs and feet felt numb. My left foot was the worst.
I finished up with, well, you know, and stood up, and started — or attempted rather — to walk forward, leading with my extremely useless left foot.
Clearly I was not in the correct state of mind.
No where in the order of the above events did I mention a critical task that usually comes after one stands up from the toilet prior to going anywhere — Pull bottoms up.
That’s right. I began to leave the designated crap area before I was properly clothed.
After I started to move forward, my numb left foot gave the rest of my body a quick reminder that it was now a worthless piece of crap.
My left foot buckled under.
Luckily I grabbed onto the towel bar preventing me from face planting into the shower stall.
And I stood there. Having the kind of pain best described as “Talk to me now and I will kill you.”
It reminded me of when nurses would come in while I was in labor, having a contraction, prior to any pain meds, and would want to take my blood pressure.
Husband would nicely inform the nurse that I was having a contraction and that it might be best if she waited until it was over. Like the nurse couldn’t see what was happening by (1) the machine documenting it, or (2) the fact that I looked like a woman who was trying to find her happy place, bitch.
Back to Why You Should Not Read (on the toilet). . .
So I was standing there. Feeling pain. Getting nauseous. And then I looked up. Into the full length surround mirrors just to my right.
I was white as a ghost. And may I remind you that my bottoms were down. Humbling in every sense of the word.
Eventually I pulled my britches up. Washed up and headed to bed.
The next morning I knew something was wrong. The signs were all there:
The inability to put any weight on my left foot. The large bruised and swollen area. And my extreme cursing. All indicated a problem.
This is where the podiatrist comes in. And let me assure you that I do not go to the doctor unless it is necessary. Which means I usually only go when I am growing a human being that needs to be safely expelled.
Bottom line: No broken bones. Couple weeks rest to heal.
And that is why you should not read (on the toilet) ever!