That was bad. That was good.

September is drawing to a close.

And this year, I'm glad to see it go.

It has been a tough month for me.

And a wonderful month.

Exhausting.

Full.

Heart-lifting.

Heart-breaking.

I am reminded of one of my favourite episodes of the Simpsons, the one in which Homer buys a Krusty Doll at a curiosity shop and the owner engages in this bit of dialogue:

That is what my month has felt like.

Allow me to illustrate with one example from Late Summer 2018 (SQUEAMISHNESS WARNING: this post details a minor medical procedure):

One beautiful day in the late summer, some relatives and I got slices of pizza and went to the beach.

That was good.

When I went in swimming, I tripped on some rocks and fell.

That was bad.

But I wasn't seriously injured.

That was good.

But I did get a foreign object lodged in my foot.

That was bad.

But it was pretty small.

That was good.

I was still quite freaked out.

That was bad.

My relatives drove me home and one of my relatives was able to give me a first aid kit they had in their car.

That was good.

But even with the help of the first aid kit, I couldn't get the foreign object out.

That was bad.

But, I calmed down and let my relatives carry on so I didn't have to ruin the rest of their day while I soaked my foot in salt water to see if that would help.

That was good.

But it didn't help.

That was bad.

But, it was good timing to go to the walk-in clinic in Bridgewater and I was able to drive myself there.

That was good.

But I arrived 15 minutes after the beginning of registration.

That was bad.

But I still got on the list – 18th out of 25 people accepted.

That was good.

But when I told them what was wrong with me, they said the walk-in clinic probably wouldn't have the right equipment to treat me.

That was bad.

But that the emergency department would be able to help me.

That was good.

But the wait in emergency was very long.

That was bad.

But there were interesting people to talk with. 

That was good.

But most of the conversations were about how Nova Scotia's health care system is not working very well for a lot of people.

That was bad.

And more and more people kept arriving.

That was also bad.

Compared to them, I had nothing seriously wrong with me.

That was good (for me, anyway).

But it meant that I was unlikely to get treated – ever – or at least until my foot went septic and/or gangrenous.

That was bad.

After about 4 hours of waiting, one of the newer arrivals to the waiting area asked me "Why don't you try Liverpool Hospital instead?", an excellent question.

That was good.

I was tired and it took me more than a half an hour to drive to Liverpool.

That was bad.

But I had thought to bring a piece of pizza with me which I ate along the way for supper.

That was good.

Walking up to Liverpool hospital, I could feel that my foot was getting more painful.

That was bad.

But the triage nurse was super-nice and tried to see if she could take the foreign object out without me having to wait for a doctor.

That was good.

But she couldn't get it out – and she didn't have anything except a little lidocaine to numb the pain. I cursed – a lot.

That part was really bad.

But she was great about it and said it was okay for me to curse.

That was good.

But I had to wait to see a doctor after all.

That was bad.

But when I used the little black phone to register my presence with the front desk at the hospital, the staff person said, "So, you got a rock in your foot, hunh?" which was pretty funny and we had a hearty laugh about it.

That was good.

But then I had to wait.

That was bad.

But I got put into a treatment room after about an hour, which was way better than the 3-4 days that would have been my best guess for my wait time in Bridgewater.

That was good.

They put me into a treatment room with another patient and his partner.

That was a little weird.

But they were both really interesting and sweet and we had a lovely chat.

That was good.

Then the other patient got treated (by a fantastic doctor) and they all left and I was all alone for what felt like a really long time and I thought maybe everyone had forgotten all about me.

That was bad.

But then the same fantastic doctor came back and tried to get the foreign object out of my foot.

That was good.

But she couldn't do it.

That was bad. And at the same time, it was good, because at least I didn't feel like I should have been able to take it out myself and was wasting everyone's time by coming to the emergency room.

The doctor reassessed the situation and decided to give me some local freezing.

That was good.

But getting it injected with a needle was NOT FUN.

That was bad.

But then my foot was numb.

And that was GOOD.

And then the doctor dug around and cut and tweezed and stuff like that and extracted the foreign object.

That was also good.

And it turned out the foreign object in my foot was an entire, small periwinkle shell.

That was COOL.

That was INSIDE my foot – for about 10 hours.

The doc said that she had taken a lot of things out of a lot of people's bodies, but this was a first for her.

That was also cool.

I got to keep the shell.

And that was also cool.

The staff all laughed with me about it. Before I left, I waited for the triage nurse to be available so I could show her the shell and commiserate about how neither of us had been able to get it out of my foot – not surprising since it was round and had completely embedded itself in my foot so that there was no way to get a grip on it without doing some hard-core excavation.

That was good.

I was able to drive myself home.

That was also good.

My foot was very sore for several days and then itchy as heck for several more days.

That was bad.

But there was no subsequent infection or need for further treatment.

That was good.

Almost a month later, there is still a scab on my foot.

Which is kind of weird.

But it doesn't hurt.

That is good.

And the Frogurt is also cursed.