Let's Put The Nail In The Coffin, Shall We?

I'm hoping to wrap up the saga of my big toe wound today. Wrap it up like my toe has been wrapped up for the last two nights. Put an end to it. Not put a literal nail into anything. That makes me think of the hook that pierced my toe-skin!

Last night, around 11:00, I left my rolly chair to visit the NASCAR bathroom. Again, pardon the indelicacy of my reference, but while sitting on the toilet, it occurred to me that my hook-toe was not hurting! It was as if I'd forgotten that it was injured altogether! I had walked normally, not favoring the foot, and hadn't noticed any pain to put my thoughts on my injury.

Of course, with the hook-toe on my radar, it hurt when I walked back to my office. Not as much as before. When I took off the bandaid this morning, it had a pinpoint spot as if some blood had leaked out. It felt good, though. Barely like I had impaled my great toe with a mysterious tiny hook, and had needed to twist and wiggle it for removal.

At this writing, I'm thinking that I'm on the mend, and that Farmer H's nursing services won't be required. I'm also thinking that the piece of metal might have come from the unwrapping of the Christmas presents on the toenail rug (don't get me started) large oval braided rug that I inherited from my grandma. We unwrap there every year, and The Pony sits on the floor tearing open his gifts. That tiny hook might have been a loop of metal that sometimes is used to hold items on a cardboard backing, or to anchor clear plastic over items twist-tied to cardboard. I could have picked it up with my sock while walking to my OPC (Old People Chair) from the basement mini fridge, and then driven the end into my toe while walking across the tile to go elsewhere in the basement.

Mystery solved. Injury healing. Farmer H thankfully not involved.