The Case for Badassery

I have long suspected that I am a badass. I received proof this week.

I’m not sure if I mentioned it here, but if you know me in real life, you have probably heard me say that my foot hurt a little sometime in the past 3 weeks. If you were in Iolanthe with me, you probably saw me sitting there with an icepack on my foot in the green room, dismissing concerned passers-by with a wave of my hand and saying something like, “Oh it’s nothing, just a little swollen.”

And then I went out and danced when I was supposed to dance.

I am in the green. Dancing like a badass.

You see, the week before, I had gone to Adobe Summit, which required a pretty intense walk/run through the Memphis airport on Tuesday, then a lot of standing until Friday. I wore sneakers the whole week because of the pain that started after my airport sprint, but that was my only concession to it. I walked and stood as required. And then I danced in a show when I got back, as mentioned above.

Well, my foot kept being swollen and ouchy. I wore high heels on Sunday and sang in a choir and made food for 15 people, and then I decided that wearing my pretty pink heels was not a good enough excuse for my foot to swell horribly for two days afterwards, so I went to the doctor.

She poked it and said, “Does this hurt?” and I valiantly did not kick her in the face. Then she sent me for an x-ray. When the x-ray technician says, “Oh crap! Doctor, you better look at this!” you know you’re in for a fun day.

Diagnosis: stress fracture. And the only cure is a sexy, sexy medical boot… which I did not get until I trucked across town to an orthopedist who poked my foot and said, “Does this hurt?” and whom I also did not kick even though I really wanted to.

I get to wear this beauty for at least 3 weeks. Be jealous.

But do you see why I am a badass now? I went to a conference, danced in a show, and did Easter Sunday with church and 15 people at my house with a broken foot.

I rest my case.