BLOOD BROTHER

I think I am probably the only person in the world whose shoe has grown a goiter.

The story begins three weeks ago when I had an appointment to meet my new agent at the Allstate Insurance Company Office. I arrived first thing in the morning, opened the heavy metal door (which was on a spring closure), got one foot into the lobby— and the spring sprung. The door hit my other foot and sliced my ankle open.

 I quickly sat on the floor, because my ankle spurted as much blood as a Las Vegas fountain, and I didn’t want to bleed on the office furniture. The young man (my new agent) called out,”I’ll be right there.” Whereupon I shouted, “You’d better come now because I’m bleeding all over your floor.” The ankle has lots of capillaries, so by now the blood was coming out in puddles.  I called out, “Bring some chalk, so we can draw the shape of a body around the blood.”

He rushed out with a mop and bucket. Turns out that he knows a lot about blood because he is a hemophiliac. Before starting to mop, he helped me to stop the bleeding.  The only medical equipment I had in my purse were two band-aids, a panty liner and my mask which served as a tourniquet. Now my friends can call me, “Mrs. MacGyver.”

Since the bleeding stopped, I stayed to fill out the paperwork, but the computer was going through a menopausal change, so I left for home. I  called my doctor’s office and the receptionist said to come right in to see the nurse practitioner named Karma.  I discovered that her parents had been hippies, so I guess that her grandmother must have taught her needlepoint, since she sewed 9 stitches into my ankle. Nils Lofgren is now my new hero.

I left the office with two weeks worth of stitches and medical orders:  “No hiking! “ (hobbling is permitted).” No swimming!” and, “No exercise that involves the feet,!” But I was allowed to wave my arms around.

Now that the stitches are removed, I can only wear sandals. The sick foot calls for a sandal with no heel. Consequently, I have taped the back strap around the bottom of my shoe and placed a big, lumpy white bandage one one side. Now my shoe looks as if it has grown a goiter.

When I returned to the Allstate office to finally fill out my paperwork, my agent quickly opened the outside door for me. Of course he did! After all, how could I expect less from my new blood brother?

Esther Blumenfeld