THE BACKGROUND:  I'm getting over a broken leg and torqued (OUCH!) ankle.

THE SETTING:  An official therapy room full of "equipment," most of which causes me to pray I don't have to get involved with it.  Things like mini trampolines (which they make me use), balance boards (which they make me use), a big machine where you lie on your back and use your legs up on the bouncy thing to power your body to scoot back and forth (which they make me use), foam pads (which they make me balance on--on ONE FOOT!). . . .   You get the picture:  anything I don't want to get on, including the stationary bicycle, they make me use.

THINGS I'VE LEARNED:  All exercises are assigned in terms of counting or timing.  Do your own counting and timing since if you're daydreaming (or striving to keep breathing) and you ask them how many/how long you have to go, they always say you didn't do as many or participate for as long as you really have.  It's a trick. 

THE PAYOFFS:  1) Strengthened ankle muscles, which were messed up during my step into thin air. (Actually, it was the landing that did the damage.)  2) Better cardio, which means I can now do six "relaxed" minutes on "Level 3" (out of 10, I believe) without having to stop, collect myself and guzzle water like a marathon runner.  3) They play pretty good music in the room.  4) It's close to a pleasant restaurant where I meet a friend for lunch when I'm done.

THE BEST PART:   They massage my foot and ankle afterwards.  'Twas during this time, Dear TwinkleGrammers, when the butt-gusting Funny Thing took place since obviously the rest of the torture -- albeit it ever so good for me -- is not funny.

For whatever reason (mostly having to do with the fact I'm now over sixty), along with the usual pain in my healing bone and ankle joint, the joint in my big toe (where it attaches to my foot) was stiff and uncommonly painful.  I assumed the position (on back, leg up on incline board, foot hanging over the end so the therapist can handily access it) and waxed poetic (whined) about said toe joint.  She gently squeezed it, gently pumped it back and forth a few times and said, and I quote, "Yes.  It is stiff.  I'm going to distract it and..."

"WHAT?! You're going to "distract" (I use air quotes here) my big toe?!  hahahahahaha  HAHAHAHAHAHA!  YOU'RE GOING TO DISTRACT MY BIG TOE?!  BWA-HA-HA-HA-HA!" 

I start imagining what might come next.  Might she run to the far corner of the room yelling "HEY!  BIG TOE!  OVER HERE!"?  Or might she engage my second toe to make faces at it?  Or if my big toe becomes too distracted and can't bail out of the distraction, might it make me walk sideways?"  I am WAILING with laughter!  I am holding my stomach and laughing so hard she can't even get a good GRIP on my big toe, which suddenly seems like it's trying to distract her by flailing around on the slant board with the rest of my foot which is attached to my leg which is attached to my torso, which is rolling from side to side with laughter!

She cannot imagine what is so funny since apparently "distracting" a big toe is a medical term for gently squeezing and pulling it, so I explain the hilarity to her by saying, "YOU'RE GOING TO DISTRACT MY BIG TOE?!  BWA-HA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

She's smiling, although I'm not sure if she ever laughs since I am laughing too hard to hear.  She's trying to explain to me how important the big toe is to a person's ability to maintain balance.  "You can lose the rest of your toes and still walk," she said (or something like that), "but you cannot balance without that big one."

"ALL THE MORE REASON NOT TO DISTRACT IT!  IT'D LIKE IT TO KEEP ITS FULL ATTENTION ON IT'S JOB!  HAHAHAHAHA!"

She gives up.  Patiently waits out my laughter, waits for my body to settle down so she can begin distracting my big toe (HAHAHAHAHAHA!), which she does--at least in the medical sense.  She says she will never again be able to use that term without thinking about "this."

I felt badly for acting like such a doofus, and yet . . . I could not stop snickering.  In fact, I'm laughing all over again right now.  And, I cannot stop thinking about ways to distract my big toe -- as you can tell by my photograph.  (If you receive the text version, I've painted a face on my second toe.)  I'm SO stuck on this topic that I've decided to run a contest. (SEE BELOW)

In the meantime, along with working on your contest entries, I encourage you to also spend some time thinking about unimportant "issues" (real ones) that seem to constantly distract you, thereby causing you to lose your mental balance and keep you from missing some of the joys in your life.  Perhaps it's time to learn to laugh about those, too.

Until we chat again, peace and grins,

 She Who's Trying to Keep Her Big Toe Attentive