Christmas afternoon, during all of the hustle and bustle, one of our big heavy bar stools fell, and it fell right onto William's toe.
William screamed and screamed. It was the kind of scream where, as a parent, you know something is broken or really wrong.
Poor William cried on and off the rest of the day, and we figured his toe was broken.
The next day, we spent 2 hours in the after hours clinic to try to help out poor William and his toe that looked like a plumb.
The doctor confirmed that the toe was broken, most likely in two places, and then he said that he would need to poke a hole in the toenail to relieve the pressure.
Poor William freaked out, and it was miserable to be the one to hold him down while they poked, or burned, the hole.
Sure enough, blood flew all over, and William did finally get some relief.
Lucky for William, he doesn't have to have any kind of cast or splint. He just has to let pain be his guide. As of now, he can finally get a snow boot on, but he is still limping.
Poor William. Poor toe.