A Guy's Rant: How To Lose A Toe In Ten Days [Part Three]

Our own Frank Babies has a unique style to his writing, and we love it. We hope you do as well. Check out the second part of his multi-part series below as he describes "how to lose a toe in 10 days."

I have a few confessions. Firstly, Katie Couric just explained to me that she used to sleep with a pillow between her legs to relieve back pain while she was pregnant. I do the same thing. So what I'm saying is that I am pregnant with Katie Couric. Not as in together. As in she is in my womb and I will birth her and hopefully, y'know, she'll land on her feet.

Secondly, when I conceived of this article the jumping off point was, like, a sort of weak play on the title of a movie I've never seen. I think it was about a girl leaving some sort of feminine accoutrement at her boyfriend's apartment and, predictably, he went on a particularly gruesome child killing spree because he wouldn't be able to watch the sports with the boys, as we guys are known to do. That, and my estimated recovery time of ten days which I would record here in earnest. Herein lies the rub; everything happened the first day and the remaining nine have been spent "taking it easy" under a myriad of pain and mind dulling medication. Also problematic is that I may or may not have been in some state of shock during much of the goings-on.

So let's shake off this poorly thought-out conceit and go for a more organic, flash fiction-y, net friendly, tumblr accessible, bullet point format of what I think I know. Maybe just a series of sepia filtered pictures of skylines with some quasi-inspirational quotes thrown in artsy cursive handwriting to express my experience. "Your heart only breaks to make room for someone else to move in." That's good. I'm keeping it. Step off, 12 year old girls and weird 40 year old divorcees. It's over. Stop playing Aquarium Bubble City and commenting on your niece's cleavage heavy pics."Runs in the family." Weirding everyone out.

My toe wasn't in my sock. It was on the sidewalk. My dad found it and handed it off with alarmingly little concern to some person who may or may not have worked at the hospital.
It wasn't my whole toe. Just a piece. Clipping my toenail won't be much of a problem anymore. So I can eliminate all those pedicures from the budget. Maybe little Katie will be able to afford college after all. (She's in my womb awaiting birth in case you started reading in the middle of the page like a dummy with space perception problems.)
I was initially given the painkiller/sedative Diladudid which noted popstar Michael Jackson overdosed on around this time some three years ago. I considered mentioning this to my father but I figured it might have been disconcerting, plus Jeopardy was on.
During Double Jeopardy something happened, a gauze mishap of some sort, and blood started flowing from the bed and onto the floor. It seemed to strike my father and the hospital staff as something gruesome to be addressed. Personally, I was in my Ken Jennings zone, as well as on King of Pop Drugs.
I was wheeled around a lot in a gurney. People kept wanting to prop me up as opposed to have me lying prone. This didn't interest me. Being rolled around the hospital in a cloth gown with strings upright did not give me any real increased sense of purpose and independence.
Many of these same people also kept asking me what kind of shoes I was wearing at the time. This struck me as a sort of an ambiguous question. Technically I was wearing Low Cut Nike SB's. But say I had chosen to rock some Sambas that day, I think once one sticks one's foot under a running lawn mower aesthetic choices are sort of moot. (I don't really know what moot means.)
In surgery I was asked what kind of music I liked. Blitzed on painkillers and blood loss I scrambled and answered "Rock and Roll". When pressed I mentioned the White Stripes. Next thing I knew their Pandora Channel was pulled up. I'm assuming this will run me around $6,500. I listened to "Icky Thump" while they took power tools to my foot. I should have forced them to listen to my personalized Creed/Insane Clown Posse playlist.
My antibiotics stink. Like literally smell unappealing. I'm assuming it's to keep vampires away from my toe. Because even before this all happened I had a whole issue with that.
My foot doctor is great. So if you have a callous, gross, but also - I know a guy.
I think the majority of his job is getting the assorted elderly out of his office before they launch into some story that has no discernable beginning or ending but inevitably involves ungrateful grandchildren.
I was at a bar in my orthopedic boot the other day, and there was another dude on crutches. I tried to compare battle wounds and somehow it nearly devolved into the most pathetic scuffle World Star Hip Hop would have ever posted.
My pug has grown rotund during this tragedy either because I haven't been able to walk her or, perhaps, sympathy weight for baby Kate.

In conclusion, what have I learned?

I am a hero and should never labor like a commoner again.
Obviously I am fragile. Like all the greats.
Feel free to pass my story onto anyone going through some dark times and may be in need of a little inspiration.
I'm like that scary woman trainer with the big shoulders on The Biggest Loser. Sans toe.

That's exactly what I'm like.

Check out part one here and part two here.

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