The Crock Pot Lid

A number of years ago, my parents bought a very cool crock pot for me for Christmas. It has two crock inserts; one regular and one with a divider (splits it into 1/3 and 2/3 - cook meat in the big side and rice or a side later in the small side). It also came with an insulated carrier. I was so excited to get this and when we got home later that day, I opened the box and promptly dropped the lid on the floor in our dining room. On carpet. And it shattered into a trazillion little pieces. I could've just cried. I couldn't even buy a replacement in town. I had to order one from the good folks at Rival and wait for it to arrive nearly two weeks later.

Fast forward to this past Thursday morning. While still in my pajamas, robe, and slippers, I popped out to the pantry in the garage to get my beloved crock pot in which I planned to cook a lovely Cure 81 ham. As I headed towards the step up into the house, the lid had the nerve to slide off the top of the crock pot! All I could think at that moment was how much I did NOT want it to shatter into a trazillion pieces on the cold, concrete garage floor. Quick - what were my options?


A. Let it fall and be destroyed - been there, done that


B. Drop the rest of the crock pot to salvage the lid - completely ridiculous


C. Stick my foot out in hopes that I can somehow slow the lid and keep it from disintegrating


I chose option C.


I saved the lid.


I hadn't counted on the direction and force with which the lid would hit me. Or, to be more specific, my toe. The toe just next to my big toe on my right foot. I quickly discovered how that would feel, as the lid continued its path to the floor, where it clanked around, break-free.

Hubby calls out from the dining room, "Are you okay?"

My response? Absolutely nothing. I can barely breathe and speaking is entirely out of the question. That poor toe hurts like the dickens (what does that mean, anyway? What are the dickens? Besides the family of Charles, of course.)

He came out and collected the crock pot, the lid, and the ham. I limped in and sat on the couch and cried. And cried. And cried. I really thought the pain would lessen enough that I could talk. It just took much longer than I anticipated. I had it elevated, put an ice pack on it, and cried some more. Of course, being Thursday, there was much to do, so I stayed there for all of probably five minutes, and then went on with my day. It was a little swollen and still hurt. But life goes on.

I was out and about all day, with no opportunity to elevate it or ice it. Later in the afternoon, it was really hurting, so I finally took the shoe (praise God for Air Walks!) and sock off and this is what I saw:

Yikes!!

Talk about swollen and tight. It was definitely time to go home, put my foot up, and ice that toe. A friend of mine who's a nurse sweetly recommended buddy-taping the poor thing to his neighbor toe. I thought we were out of gauze and tape, so I never got around to doing it. That night, I finally dug around in the cupboard and found both gauze and tape. Hallelujah! Who knew that such a small act of support would alleviate almost ALL OF THE PAIN?!?! Not me, obviously, or I'd have acted on that much earlier in the day.

It's still swollen and purple (and possibly broken), but many thanks to Karen and the makers of gauze and bandage tape. Most of the time I don't even remember that it's damaged. And the Air Walks give me plenty of room to not have a painful reminder.

And the ham? It was fabulous!