I debated posting this. Then I thought, who wouldn’t want to hear about a toe?

So here’s what happened.

I was performing a heroic act, saving my cats from the unbridled enthusiasm of my boyfriend’s dog. Noble, right? In my attempt to block said dog, I launched myself forward with the energy of someone who absolutely did not think this through, and drove my middle left toe directly into a door jamb with the kind of precision that suggests the universe had a plan.

The pain was… significant. We’re talking immediate ice, high-strength ibuprofen, and a supplemental whiskey for medical purposes.

Morning came. It was bad. I taped it, splinted it, and decided that doctors were probably overrated for this sort of thing. It was Easter weekend. I had flights to catch. I had vibes to protect.

My mom had a walking boot sitting around from her own injury. Like a family heirloom, but sadder.

I let it “heal.” It improved for a while, then at around month 8 it got worse. There was one very dark night — whiskey involved, naturally — where I genuinely considered removing the toe myself with my branch loppers. My reasoning? Gangsters lose digits and bounce back all the time. I’ve seen it in movies. This was a valid medical option.

I did not do this. Instead I went to a podiatrist.

Turns out a chunk of the middle knuckle had completely broken off and just… been hanging out in there. Doing nothing. Being a problem. The resulting “healing” had gone predictably sideways, so they scheduled surgery to remove the entire middle knuckle of my middle left toe.

And that’s how I became Almost 10 Toes.

Technically it should be Almost10CompleteToes but honestly that doesn’t have the same flow, and I’ve been through enough. 

Almost10toes, the origin story