As some of you may know I have recently been off my feet having undergone double ingrown toenail surgery. In my head I thought it would be a simple procedure. An afternoon off work, a relaxed weekend and I’d be back fighting fit the following week.
I assumed my wife would wait on her King hand and foot to best aid my recovery and my two-year-old would substitute as a butler while my feet were up. Oh, how wrong I was. Pregnant women are not very sympathetic – sorry to generalise, maybe I should say my wife is not sympathetic when pregnant.
During the surgery, I inquired as to whether I could take my recently removed toenails home to show off to people the agony I had bravely endured. I was told by the podiatrist in no uncertain terms “No body parts are to leave the building”. Firstly I was slightly shocked that toenails were classed as body parts, then I began to wonder why this rule was so important and proceeded to ask. In a very serious, hushed tone the podiatrist responded, “People have been known to do explicit things with them.” What!? Explicit things with toenails?? I mulled it over a little and still at a loss I asked, while sat legs akimbo in the chair, various nurses what things people actually did once they got these toenails home. Nobody was willing to answer and I am still left guessing.
I left the hospital wearing the most unsuitable shoes I could have possibly chosen and walking like I’d pooed myself. I set up my base camp at home. It was to be the sofa, a deck chair and two pillows to prop my feet up, the TV remote always an arms length and my self acclaimed ‘heavily pregnant wife’ insistent on doing everything while I sat. Those few hours should have been the happiest of my life thus far. My wife even gave our daughter a briefing about Daddoo’s poorly toes and what not to do and I assumed this would be enough to ensure my safety and a pain free recovery. Within two minutes it dawned on me that this was highly unlikely.
Ayla was fascinated with the bandages and bounded over to kiss Daddoo’s poorly toes while she gently stroked my feet. In her terms “gently stroked” must mean roughly pat with her podgy little hands. Through gritted teeth I thanked her for her care and ushered her away from the vicinity of my tootsies.
Ayla was kind enough to nurse me back to health by whipping me up some kind of Plasticine super food salad. The cute moment was quickly erased as she stood over me bellowing “EAT IT! EAT IT!” like Miss Trunchbull. It shames me to say at 31-years-old I had to think twice about actually eating the play doh.
The following day to my horror my wife reminded me that she had plans that could not be rearranged. I was left holding the baby. During this time Ayla managed to stand on my toes more times than I cared to count. She also decided that she wanted to use the deck chair to relax and shouted “Go away Daddy’s toes,” with her face just inches from my feet. To add to this, apparently my propped up injured toes doubled as a good hand rail. I bravely struggled on in between chasing her in and out of rooms, cooking her food and changing her nappy. She found no nappy time a great opportunity to have a poo on the front doormat. I don’t deal well with these types of incidents at the best of times but in my current condition it was even harder to poopa scoop and clean .
After a long day looking after the little one, I was really looking forward to a good wash. I was advised by the medical professionals that I was under no circumstances to get my dressings wet. Therefore I surmised a simplistic sponge wash over the sink would suffice. However my wife, (who I’ve said before is always right, not on this occasion) had a bright idea which would enable me to have a proper shower.
First, she would tightly cling film my feet. Then wrap a ‘bag for life’ around each one, securing them with elastic hair bobbles. We went ahead with this scheme. It was only when I got out of the shower that I felt major squelching and sloshing around within the durable bags on my feet. I got dried and my wife removed the plastic protection to find both feet soaked. It was all Rachel’s fault, nothing to do with standing directly under the water to have it seep in. I may as well have dipped my f eet straight in the bath.