Adding to the long list of things that are great about the Beans: Jim has now assisted on 48,000 made foul shots, and Seth has done the same for 38,000 of them; they suggest fun things like, “Let’s do big-eyes” for photos such as that which you see above; and perhaps most importantly of all, they love me despite my gross feet.
Seriously, if your feet are grosser than mine, find a circus to join.
[EDITOR’S NOTE: To the faint of heart, now is the time that you should go back to playing Doodle Jump. This is the, let’s say, less appetizing part.]
Here’s what I’m going to do because I respect you: not show pictures of my feet. Instead, it will suffice to say that in addition to my toes all needing a good combing (if not electrolysis), most of the nails are full-on black and blue, and the nail on my right second toe (pointer?) is being held on by a Band-Aid. And now, over on the left side, I’ve got an infection of the middle toe (index?), that yesterday prompted The Beautiful Heth to send me to the emergency room so that it wouldn’t spread all the way up my leg. On my way, I dropped Noah off for some hoop at the gym, and from 10 feet away, our buddy Bill Welch told me it looked like I had exzema.
Hey, you were warned.
Within 30 seconds of my arrival at Horseshoe Pond “Urgent Care” Friday evening, the doctor diagnosed cellulitis (skin infection) and told me it would be 10 days of antibiotics. However, he thought there was a good chance that the pills wouldn’t get into the bloodstream fast enough, so if it were any worse in the morning I was to get back to the ER for intravenous antibiotics.
Then he did something really uncool, following what may have been the worst 19 words I’ve ever heard: “I’m going to burn a hole in your toenail to see if we can release some of the puss.”
I wish I was playing Doodle Jump about now.
Using a little stick about the diameter of a needle that was literally red-hot on the business end (think branding iron), he did just that, and let me tell you that it felt about like you’d think it should feel.
“MMMMMRRREMMEMRMEMMMMRMEMEMMMMEMMMMRMEM,” I said through clenched teeth.
“That hurt?” he asked (good one, Dr. Seinfeld), and then, worst of all: “Hmmm, no puss.”
He then covered up his handiwork with a Band-Aid, gave me my instructions, and sent me on my way, saying he hoped it didn’t get worse. “Keep that foot elevated.”
Nice to meet you, too.
This morning, good news: The red streak indicative of the infection, which last night had gone from the tip of the toe right up to the ankle, had receded back to the toe. Doxycycline 1, Cellulitis 0.
And that’s where the Beans joined in. There they were, Seth and Jim, reliable as ever. We tripped the alarm getting into the gym, but after getting that straightened out, it was all good. With Mr. Springsteen providing our soundtrack yet again and with Noah jumping in for a few hundred here and a few hundred there, we burned through 2,000 in about an hour and 22 minutes … bringing us to 974,007 down, 25,993 to go to 1 million made foul shots.
And not a single disparaging word was uttered about … well, you know.
For more on Hoops For Heroes, with a goal of 1 million made foul shots and $1 million raised for the Intrepid Fallen Heroes Fund, visit www.hoopsforheroes.com or contact Dave Cummings at 603-554-7855.