Oh, Sunday. Of course. Of course it is a Sunday when my toe starts feeling markedly worse, the one I thought was broken. Now I am walking like a derf, which is incredibly inconvenient and useless, as I have no handicapped sticker on my car . So off to the walk-in clinic. One doctor, hour wait. Hoo friggin’ ray. At least it appears that no one in the waiting room has swine flu, there’s a plus.

The PA who takes my vitals likes my stack of silver bracelets and starts talking to me about how he used to wear some because he wanted to emulate Slash. I asked him if he also wore a top hat and he said no, but that he did have the long metal hair going on then as well. He told me my blood pressure was shitty, not in that exact language of course, which sent my mood plummeting. Great. GREAT GREAT GREAT GREAT. ANYTHING ELSE? Well, I don’t have a fever, how about that? Grrr.

Wait wait wait. Sit sit sit. OK, move to another room and sit on the table. As I climb up to sit silently for another year or so, I glance up at the wall directly across from me. Directly at my eye level is a very detailed drawing of THE ANUS. Oh for christ’s sake. Ya know…I like biology just fine, more than the average guy too I bet, but COME ON. I don’t feel too great and I want to have to stare at AN ANUS???? Someone in that office must be laughing his or her anus off at this.

Another assistant comes in and looks at my toe. Oh, it’s swollen, he says. YEAH, I go. Then he leaves and I stare at THE ANUS some more. There are quite a few parts to the anus, surprisingly. I wonder who got to name them all? Finally, the ONE DOCTOR arrives. She looks at my toe.

“Oh,” she says, “it’s swollen.”

“YEAH,” I go.

“Well, we will send you down to x-ray then. Is there a possibility you could be pregnant?”

I look at her with the mild scorn of Captain Obvious surely present in my eyes. “I suppose there would always be a chance, but it is very unlikely.”

“What kind of birth control are you using?”

I tell her, and she ROLLS HER EYES AT ME! ROLLS HER EYES!!

“You know that is only 85% effective.”

Oh, wtf is this, I think. I am a middle-aged woman, not some stupid teenager. “I have never had an unintended pregnancy in 47 years, so it’s working for ME.” I smile insincerely at her and give her a thumbs-up. I understand she is trying to determine if she needs to tell the x-ray tech to make me wear a lead apron over my women parts. JUST DO IT ALREADY, GOD!

“Well, you should think about using a more-effective product.” She leaves the room and I seethe slightly. I would have hoped for the opportunity to say, “Gosh, I think losing 100 POUNDS OF UNSIGHTLY FAT would be more EFFECTIVE FOR YOU, A HEALTH CARE PROVIDER AND EXAMPLE, as well as combing out your black-dyed Priscilla Presley bouffant and taking about 50 layers of CLOWN MAKEUP off your FACE. THAT’S WHAT I THINK YOU SHOULD THINK ABOUT RATHER THAN WHAT I USE FOR BIRTH CONTROL WHEN I HAVE A HURT TOE!” Instead, THE ANUS and I wait until I am told to hop over to x-ray.

The outcome is that I have a bone spur on my toe. Ah, CRAP. CRAP CRAP CRAP. How I did not want this. I ask her what I can do about it.

“Don’t irritate it.”

“Walking irritates it. And I run.”

“You aren’t going to be running. Find some other exercise to do, like swimming.”

What. WHAT. Oh no no no, I am thinking, nooooo. Listen, lady, you don’t understand. I. NEED. TO. RUN. Running and I have become very close. I don’t want to swim, I don’t want to bike, I don’t want to do the elliptical. I WANT TO RUN.

“There’s nothing I can to do fix it?”

“Nope. It is just going to sometimes be OK and sometimes not be OK.”

Oh, HELL, no. Not good enough. I limp away from Dr. Corpulent, sadder than sad. Shitty blood pressure again and a chronic foot injury. Bad day.

Monday, I will try to get some better answers. THE ANUS would want it that way.