Instant Karma Came and Got Me

Dear That’s Life,
I should have known better. After all, I have warned others not to do this, and yet, I did it myself. And as a person who believes in its strength, I should have resisted temptation, though I did not. I gave in – and it is my fault.

What in the world would possess me to mock someone else’s karma? Because I am not one to tempt fate, I do not know what I was thinking. There are mornings when life seems to go incredibly wrong, convincing me that my karma is off, compelling me to battle outside forces to ensure nothing else goes awry. Sometimes it works – often it does not. I know that what goes around comes around (even before Justin Timberlake turned it into a song), having warned others not to mess with the juju. Nevertheless, the temptation was too great and now it seems I may have literally shot myself in the foot.

The plight of my toe was a good story that got better, only because it was followed by the fate of my friend with the fork stuck in his behind (see blog entry “Irene, Who?). After making fun of my injury, he came home after a long day, ended up with a four pronged eating utensil lodged in his backside and a priceless story. Amidst my tears of uproarious laughter as he regaled me with the details, I warned him that karma was not something to take lightly – and he knew what I meant. Unfortunately, I did not heed my own advice, proceeding to write about his injury and print it in the paper. Though his name was never revealed, I shared his story and enjoyed every moment of it, simply believing he had it coming. Never did I imagine there was still more karma to be had or that he was powerful enough to further influence the cosmos, my toe saga far from over.

I had commented to more than one person that I thought it was odd to still be in so much pain one week after the injury. My brother, a physician, reminded me that the toe was broken, this was going to hurt for weeks and I was not being a good patient. I had not curtailed my gym routine, serving as one indication that I was not resting the foot nor letting it heal. The throbbing and shooting pain could have served as a red flag should I have been paying enough attention. Life, in my opinion, had to go on and, I reasoned, it was only a toe.

The burning sensation which started yesterday was more like a flashing neon danger sign than a simple warning. In agony, I removed the bandage and saw the toe was infected. Confirming my diagnosis with an actual physician – since I only play one on TV – we called the doctor who had stitched my toe, informing him of the situation. The toe was hot, swollen and red, prompting him to call in a prescription for an antibiotic, sending my better half to a 24 hour pharmacy. An hour later, I swallowed my first dose, as well as a Tylenol with codeine. Relief was on the way.

For any normal person, the story would end there. I would have learned my lesson, appreciated the order of the universe and told my friend that in the battle of the karma, he won – hands down. My life, however, does not work that easily. If there is drama, I find it, crazy following me everywhere. Not only was I starting a course of antibiotics for a toe (a TOE, for Pete’s sake) but I was also taking a controlled substance, one with significant side effects and warning labels. Not being able to operate heavy machinery was soon to be the least of my problems.

I have never smoked anything of any kind in my entire life. I did not go through a rebellious stage as a teen nor did I experiment with illegal substances. I don’t even drink caffeine. As scary as this may seem, my energy is “au natural”. Anything to alter that equilibrium, especially one that comes in a small white pill, works to a more severe degree than it would on someone else. Neither petite nor a waif, even a minimal amount of anesthesia or smallest dose of pain killers works wonders, far beyond what one may expect for a person of my size. Therefore, after taking only one Tylenol with codeine last night to ease the severely acute pain emanating from my toe, the pain abated, my arms felt like lead and I swore I could see dead people.

Giddy does not accurately capture my state of mind at about 10:30pm. I cried from laughter, not pain, as things which I would otherwise not find funny seemed to be hysterical. I also had the munchies, needing to eat anything and everything that could be brought to me in bed, still unable to walk with ease. At one point, my husband took my cell phone from me and shut it off, telling me I needed to sleep. After powering it down, he plugged it in to charge, placed it on my night table and left the room. I was wired, shall we say, in no position to sleep and far from being zonked. When I realized the phone was still there, I turned it back on, hoping to find someone awake to text. Cracking up at what I thought was true sneakiness, it did not bother me that, in reality, the phone had just been sitting there the entire time. When my husband came back in the room, however, I showed him I had taken the phone back, laughed uncontrollably at my silliness, tears streaming down my face. For the moment, this was the funniest thing I had ever done.

My eldest daughters by his side, they stared at me as I continued carrying on. My toe was now the least of our problems, the new diagnosis clear. “Holy cow,” he said, smiling. “You’re high.” Cheering for myself, I waved my phone in victory while the three of them stared, laughing at me, not with me. “I need something to eat,” I said, to which he replied that I did not. What I needed, he said, was sleep.

The morning after, the story is still very funny. My toe seems better and I am trying to take it easier, opting to skip the gym, but only after I was told I was not actually allowed to go. Upon returning home from some early errands, my husband asked me how I was feeling, a little twinkle in his eye. I said I was feeling better, that I had taken the antibiotic and skipped the codeine, as driving will be an integral part of my day. He said that was a wise move.

“After all,” he said, “the police would not find it funny when they’d pull you over for reckless driving – especially when you tell them you were just trying to use your truck to hit the dead people you’re seeing.”

Har.
MLW