All I had scheduled Thursday was lunch with my friend Bettye and my small group meeting that evening. Until I hit the curb, that is. With my big toe. Plans disappeared along with any ability to think straight, stand, or care about their disappearance.
Rejoicing over the phone in my pocket, I called my husband, who was inside the house, to come out and help me. Nausea and the possibility of passing out joined me on the ground. Eventually, my stomach settled enough so I could lie on the grass.
I heard a car approach. “Is that Bettye?” David said “yes.” “Good. Is she parking?” Another “yes.” “Good.”
Soon Bettye joined us and stroked my hand. David held my other hand. Surrounded by my support system, I felt loved, safe, and comforted. I didn’t have to worry about what to do. Help was here.
Since David had an appointment, Bettye soon had me loaded in her car and over to the urgent care clinic. Within an hour of falling, I saw the doctor with Bettye by my side. What a great friend. I knew she’d take care of me and be my brain during the appointment.
After an exam and four x-rays, the verdict was a broken toe. A beautiful straight line across the toe between the joint and the foot. A good scenario. Followed by the clunky black boot for four to six weeks.
Bettye and I still made it to lunch—I needed food. Then we waited for my pain prescription. Finally, home where it all began.
I didn’t start out wanting proof of a good friendship. I already knew I had it. Still, what a blessing to know I have a friend who is calm, caring, and competent. I’m extremely grateful.