Needle Me No More

I woke up around 4 AM this Friday morning. I laid in bed until almost 5 AM, then got up and made a large mug of lemonade and sat down at the ‘puter. My amigo CyberDave was already online, having gotten out of bed at almost the same time as I. We began an online chat (as we are wont to do) and the conversation meandered around to his job. He works for an Aussie-owned company and they are extremely safety-conscious. And that triggered a memory for me.

It was a long time ago, but one day at work the boss overturned a large and heavy piece of equipment onto my right foot. It hurt like hell. I was concerned there might be broken bones in my foot. A fellow employee drove me to a little “doc-in-the-box” clinic where I was extensively questioned about my ability to pay for services they might provide. When I say extensive, I mean it got to the point that my fellow employee had enough and stood up and said, “Look, he’s got health insurance, a checking account, credit cards, cash in his pocket, and there’s a bank ATM just across the street. He can pay you! Now will you take a look at his foot?!”

So they X-rayed my right foot. The doc came into the room with a curious expression on his face and asked me if I had experienced pain in my foot before the accident at work. I said I hadn’t. Then he handed me two X-ray films.

One X-ray showed my foot from above and the other showed it from the side. Both X-rays clearly showed a sewing needle inside my foot. I could see the eye of the needle. The needle’s point was missing and it was broken about 1/4 inch from the sharp end. So, there was a piece of needle that was about 1/4 inch long, and another piece that was about an inch and a half long. It was embedded in the bottom of my foot. The image was crystal clear. I asked if I could have the X-ray films but they wouldn’t give them to me.

How did the needle come to be there? I don’t know, but I imagine I stepped on it when I was a child. It was probably one of those little childhood accidents that are quickly forgotten. Once in my foot, it stayed there, surviving being stood on, walked on, jogged on, run on, and jumped on. I guess it will be there until the day I die. Which brings me to what I want to say.

In the event of my death, and if the authorities are having trouble identifying me, tell them not to bother with dental X-rays; they can simply X-ray my right foot and look for a sewing needle. If it’s there, then it’s me. How many people have a sewing needle in their right foot? Probably not a lot.