I have these cute black strappy sandals with a two-inch chunky heel. A couple of weeks ago, the gal giving me a pedicure talked me into letting her paint decorative flower on my big toes. Obviously, I had to show off these awesome beauties, so last Thursday I donned the sassy sandals with an art-deco summer sheath and headed out for work.
Only one thing stood between me and my toe fashion show - a sneaky orange outdoor extension cord lying quietly in wait next to my car. I stepped on it the wrong way, and voila - I felt my foot roll sideways and heard a pop before I felt someone stab me in the ankle and I fell over on the hood of my car.
Long story short, I am now on crutches and sporting a not-so-fashionable air cast. It does still do a nice job of highlighting my adorable toes, but my fat little foot is so swollen that it kind of kills the look.
Among my numerous visits to healthcare providers last week, my primary care doctor persuaded me to go ahead with a well-visit lab workup.
So yesterday I get a letter with details about the lab results. The upshot is that, after 47 and a half years of incongruously low cholesterol, I have joined the ranks of rounnd middle-aged potential cardiovascular accidents.
Between falling off my shoes and being faced with taking a statin drug to rein in my self-sabotage, it's (literally) painfully obvious that it's time to start choosing lettuce over lasagna.
Will I make the right choice tomorrow? Stay tuned...
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