This is not clickbait. I repeat this is NOT clickbait. My big toenail really did fall off in the middle of the night and it proves that I teetered underneath the “adulting” spectrum once again. I’m pretty okay with blood, heck sick doesn’t even bother me. I even have to pick up dog poo everyday of my life because I own a dog but nothing could prepare me for the immense wave of nausea that would overcome me when my toe nail decided to half hang on for dear life in the early hours on Monday morning.
The tale starts back on the 19th November, my best friends wedding. To cut a long story short the shoes gave me two very enlarged, blood blister covered big toes that you will have ever seen in your whole entire like. I even thought I had frost bite it was that bad. They were worn between the hours of 2pm – 9pm (so not even the equivalent of a days work.) These said shoes were advertising themselves as part of the “comfort range.” (trust me, they wouldn’t know comfort if I slapped them round the face with it.) The pain finally subsided after about two weeks, but I still kept checking on them every day to make sure all was okay. I’ve been walking around for nearly 2 months with them so very carefully, until Sunday, the day I decided to stub my left big toe on my very hard bed frame.
“You do realise that that toe nail will fall off now.” – said Mr C.
I ignored him because, surely, if it was going to fall off it would have done so already. What a fool I was.
At approximately 3.18am of Monday morning I moved my legs in my sleep which in turn bent my left, big toe nail back. Holy fricking smokes. I shot up like I don’t know what. Scrambled to turn on the lights to inspect, little did I know as soon as I saw it I’d be scrambling for the toilet bowl.
That night Bee very much learnt that she didn’t like seeing toe nails hanging off her body.
With a good 15 minutes throwing up bile (I have a habit of making these #AmIAdulting posts pretty disgusting, don’t I?) feeling very for myself I had to lay on my back, which was covered in sweat, with my legs hanging over the bath to start some blood going back to my head to stop the dizziness.
Who knew I was so squeamish? And who knew I’d be this bad at adulting?
Eventually after feeling at least 50% better I had to peel it off. It didn’t hurt one iota but it was enough to send my head back down the toilet. Eventually once I cooled down I made my way back in to bed, mourning the loss of my big toe nail.
The first thing I had to do was text my mum at 8am to tell her the tale. Now, I have texts coming in left, right and centre with advice for my non-existent toe nail. I won’t be able to wear my beloved barely there heels as my toe would be on show, I can’t wear pointed shoes, I have to wear flat shoes so there’s no pressure on my big toe. The list is endless.
So, to drown my sorrows I made myself a home made brunch of pancakes and bacon once I woke up. See, there is relevance to the photo in this story. Bacon is about the only thing that can get me through such a crisis. Gently weeping over my brekkie I realised just how much my shoe-wearing life was going to change over the next six months (that’s half the year peeps, half the freaking year.)
It’s really is true, you don’t miss something until it’s gone. RIP toe nail.
Happy 2017.
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