Ho Hum

I began the day in fairly good spirits.  At least until my right foot hit the floor.  (My bed is up against a wall and that's the only way to get out of bed, save crawling down to the foot). Yesterday I went for a follow-up treatment for a persistent plantar wart. 

My new and truly remarkable podiatrist had offered me the opportunity to have laser therapy, which a colleague was introducing.  I was willing to be a Guinea Pig - anything to avoid that horrid liquid Nitrogen business that I had once before.  So I gaily sailed through the first session thinking I was so tough.  Hah!  "No problem," I told the fellow, "I have a high pain threshold."  All was well the next day - no residual effects, but there was still a little area left, so I was advised to return for one more treatment.  That appointment was last night on my way home from work and before I arrived home to tutor.  Well, let's just say that things didn't turn out exactly as I had anticipated.
What I expected was a repetition of the previous episode, and that I'd be in and out in about 15 minutes or so.  Not so.  First of all, the clinic was running about half an hour behind (and with my luck, I had managed to arrive early, as the traffic had been unusually cooperative).  By the time it was my turn, I had to call my student and say I'd be late.  Then the doctor said she'd be giving me an anaesthetic. "Oh?" I wondered. 
She indicated that it order to get all the wart out once and for all, this last laser treatment would be stronger and might hurt, hence the anaesthetic.  It was when she prepped my foot and held the needle in her hand that she mentioned that "This is going to be very painful.., more painful than when the laser hits non-affected tissue."  My first thought was, "Yeah, so what, I can take it."
Little did I know how serious she was.  I felt a pinch and then sharp pain for about 3 seconds, after which I realized I had underestimated the degree of composure I was capable of.  Although I didn't embarrass myself, I did feel intense pain for those short moments.  Wow!!  Anyway, after that it was all downhill.  I hobbled out and made it home to tutor, eat dinner and crash with no untoward side effects.  I didn't even need to fill the pain killer prescription, (just as well as it probably would have been expensive). 

This morning my foot was swollen and I hobbled about the kitchen wondering what to wear on my feet, which of course dictated which outfit I would don to go to work.  Finally ready, I put on my winter boots for the first time, as they won the contest in the comfort department.  I made my way through the dark, blustery morning pathway of wind, rain splatters from trees and leaves underfoot to my car.  (Just like this one without the sunroof)


When I unlocked the driver's door the significance of the half-opened umbrella on the seat didn't register for a few moments.  Then the sight of the contents of my glove compartment strewn over the floor hit me like a punching bag on the rebound.  I had been the victim of a break-in, or vandalism at the least.  When I moved the umbrella to the rear seat - still somewhat digesting the scenario - and spotted broken glass, I was bombarded with a flash of thoughts competing for my attention.

1. Oh, God, there must be a window broken.
2.  Damn, I'm going to be late for work.
3.  What did I leave in the car that might have been taken?
3.  I wish I had left my lesson plans in better shape for the person that would be subbing for me.
4.  Do I have to call the police?
5. Gee, do I have anything to cover the window so I can drive?
6.  I guess I should tell the landlord.
7. Where do I find the non-emergency number for the police - all I can think of is 911.
8.  Crap - I hope my supervisor doesn't go through my office looking for my student's work.
9.  S--t, why me?
10.  I'm definitely going to be late for work.

And so on.  Well, I called upstairs, called the police, called the emergency phone line, called the school, but got an answering machine, found a plastic garbage bag, some tape and a towel to dry things off and headed back up to the street.  I decided that (due perhaps to watching too many CSI episodes),

that I shouldn't touch anything and went back down to return said items.  When I went back up, the landlord was there with tape and a towel.  So in the end he taped up the window by laying strips of horizontal tape- rather clever I thought. He'd been through this before, he told me.
To get to the end of the story before everyone falls asleep; a nice policeman came, then a nice female forensic technician who took pictures and dusted for prints, then I was set free to drive my sad little car to work.   I did offer to share my 'crime scene' with the Grade 12 Criminology class, who, I was later told, 'enjoyed' the experience.  Amazing what a mish-mash of broken glass can inspire!
(Oh, did I mention.., I had long since forgotten about my tender, swollen foot.)