Ok, so the last time we talked I was begging for detachable feet or at the very least something with a bit more of a kick in it like Vicodin, because its not very adult to stand in the middle of a mall weeping because your feet hurt and you still had half a mall before you even got to the Apple store and there’s just no way you can make it back to the truck even if that’s where the Starbucks was.
What does this have to do with Dear Chantix you may ask? Well, apparently now my dearest Chantix must come with a warning label that says you shouldn’t believe the voices that Chantix plants in your head about leaping off of buildings or flinging yourself into traffic... which are very compelling. Yep, apparently the FDA, who is right on the ball with recalling tainted food products (hehehe, I wrote taint) days after hundreds are sickened, are now requiring that warning labels be affixed to the dear Chantix that warns you about suicidal thoughts and depression. Of course, you’ll have to get through the whole crapping your pants and double over stomach pains warnings before hitting that little gem of information. The thing that cracks me up the most about this article is this quote:
“The antidepressant Wellbutrin, which has the same active ingredient as GlaxoSmithKline PLC's Zyban, already carries such a warning.” AHAHAHAAAAAAA seriously? An antidepressant that makes you depressed? That’s all sorts of genius isn’t it???
Ok, back to the whole feet drama, yes I was weeping and keening in the middle of a mall because it was Apple store or abject pain in my feet and the whole stubborn “I’m not going to beg my husband to drive the car into the mall to pick me up so that I don’t have to walk any farther” drama. There’s also never a handicapped person on a scamp around when you need to hijack one. I did make it to the apple store and back, but it was touch and go.
Monday morning I sat on hold with the obnoxiously happy hold music (which needs to come with its own disclaimer that when your feet hurt you may be tempted to kill innocent people while being on hold) only to be told that my X-rays were negative. Seriously? So that’s suppose to be comforting that there’s nothing medically wrong with me that can be seen by X-ray so the agony of walking is all in my head or something??? I called the podiatrist and when they asked how severe the pain was I told them that if I didn’t get an appointment in the next few hours they needed to turn on the local news to see me holding up the local CVS for crutches and vicodin, and they kindly squeezed me into an afternoon slot.
Note to self: find new podiatrist as their office is located in a cell phone dead spot... I was seen after three games of mahjong and years of foot doctor school qualified my sadistic podiatrist to gently press on the very areas that would cause me to leap from the half chair thing and scream like a little girl. Apparently this means I hosed up my ankle and stress fractured one of those little foot bones that are integral to the whole walking without pain process. I was summarily strapped into a stylish gray ski boot and given a prescription for stronger NSAIDS (and the next day the FDA says those will make my liver explode, but between suicidal Chantix and exploding liver and feet of pain, I’m pretty sure that years of military alcohol abuse has pickled my liver to a point where nothing could harm it short of a spear or vacation in a third world country where I wake up in a bathtub full of ice).
Anyhoo, I get to wear the nice boot for two weeks (during the summer... how quaint) and go back for a check up and then probably more time in the boot, and frankly I think this is a great way to save money on left shoes. I can at least walk halfway normal and without too much pain, but I’m sick of telling people HOW I hurt my foot. Seriously, I hurt it running in place during Wii Active.... no really... fine, I was injured in a bar fight. Ok, fine, I was parachuting the other day... no really a bear was in the yard attacking my neighbor (seriously, I’d actually take video of the mauling and sell it to TMZ or something), no really, its a wiinjury and no I’m not suing... unless you’re a lawyer and want to represent me and then I’m all about the horrible pain and suffering and stuff.
Yeah, so I’m waiting for the elevator at work and it hits the 2nd floor and as usual, someone starts to walk out because they think its the 1st floor and just how lazy can a person be to take an elevator down 1 floor... then I hobble in with my boot and they get all “oh, you have a reason” looking and even say something about “oh yeah, you need to take the elevator because you have a broken foot”, to which I say to them “um, no I don’t” and just stand there and stare at the top of the elevator door trying not to laugh. Tomorrow if someone asks what I did to my foot I’m going to say “um, nothing, why?”
Keep 'em guessing. Good tactic.
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