Footloose

You all remember that little ditty from the early 90's don't ya? Well that is not me right now. After Peter and I hike Mount Cameroon I had many blisters. My left foot was the worse of the pair. When we went to the beach the black sand got in them. Pete was so mad at me for not cleaning my foot out at night, but I didn't have it in me to dig out my already sore foot. As a result I limped around for a week or so, not thinking much of it. This weekend the pain got to be unbearable so I finally went to the French clinic. However, before I left I got everyone's two-cent's worth of opinions. It ran the gammut of a hairline fracture, deep tissue bruising, and sprained heel to the extreme of a worm or a jigger. I was faint as I waited, think this doctor is going to carve me up and then smoehting disgusting is goign to be expelled from my body. Luckily, it is just a deep bacterial infection. I know, I am relieved to hear that too. I am antibiotics and a pain killer, foot elevated as much as I can. Lesson learned, I will now always clean out my poor open wounds after Pete makes me climb a mountain! Oh, that's right he promised me I don't have to do that anymore, YES!