The Ballad of the Foot

Dear Neighbors:

I have alluded on and off about my foot, which has been in a state of incredible pain since August of last year. As a teacher, I'm expected to be on my feet the entire time I'm working, and this requirement is getting very difficult for me. By the end of the first month of school, I would come home, ice my foot, and try not scream the way my foot appeared to be screaming at me. I saw an orthopedist who happened to be the father of one of my former students. He ordered tests and studied the results with a look of bewilderment. Apparently, there's so much wrong that he had no idea where to begin. Appropriately, he referred me to another doctor with a great reputation. This doctor wanted to put me in a cast immediately without exploring any other options. Finally, I saw a podiatrist who happens to be a local favorite. I've taken anti-inflammatories, steroids, had physical therapy (Bob rocks my world), worn a brace, a boot, and taught on crutches for the last month and a half. 

Guess what? I'm still in pain and my ankle is still the size of a golf ball.

I was born with flat feet. Not just low arches or dropping arches -- completely flat feet. When we would go swimming in the summer, all of the other kids' footprints would have a noticeable dry spot in the middle where the arch didn't touch the ground. Not so with me. When I walked with wet feet across the concrete, everyone would point at the fact that my entire foot was represented. My parents took me to a podiatrist who fitted me with unbearably uncomfortable metal arch supports which had to be worn in expensive, ugly shoes. I couldn't run in these shoes and I spent a great deal of time trying to deflect the insults from other students. The doctor gave me exercises in which I would stand as high as I could on my toes and walk from one side of the room to the other on the balls of my feet. None of it was effective, but this was in the late 70's/early 80's when options were limited. There was a surgery to correct it, but my parents weren't impressed enough with the success rate to take the chance.

Yesterday, I saw a doctor at Cedars-Sinai in Los Angeles. As you probably know, it's the kind of hospital where if something is impossible, they make it possible. Three years ago, after a long, annoying struggle with anemia, I was finally diagnosed with Celiac Disease. Needless to say, I trust the doctors at this hospital to have my best interests in mind. The doctor I saw is both a podiatrist and a specialist in sports medicine. He was appalled that my doctors waited so long to find a more aggressive treatment and squeezed me in for an MRI right away. He told me that if I didn't hear from him by tomorrow, I should call him. I'm confident that he's going to take care of me. 

As I drove home, I started thinking about the eventuality of surgery. I have had two surgeries in my life. The first was in July of 2000. I had my gallbladder out after having painful gallstone attacks. The worst part of the surgery was not the pain or the limitation of movement. It was having the surgery two days before Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston got married. As you can imagine, there was nothing on television that weekend. Nothing. Fortunately, I had plenty of books to read. My second surgery was in December of 2004. I had a hip replacement because the cartilage in my hip wore down to nothing and the bones were crashing together (it hurts even more than you think it does). The worst part of this period in my life was that other than family, there was no one there for me. All the friends who offered to be there for me and to relieve my mom and sister of the duty of caring for me...disappeared. One friend visited me in the hospital, but no one came to my home afterwards. My mom was there for me 110%. She helped me sit, she helped me stand. She had to help me get dressed and get into bed. I had a nurse who came in for a couple of weeks to help me get back on my feet again. Still, it was disappointing that not a single friend could take the time to visit me. I understand that I had the surgery around Christmas, but still...

So on my way home yesterday, I started crying. Really crying. All I could think is that I have to go through this mess again, and again and again. I'm tired of it. I just want my parts to work so that I can live the life I want. Last year, I started working out again, lost weight and was feeling GREAT about myself. Now I feel like a lazy slug because being on my foot is too painful. 

Wish me luck that whatever surgery the doctor presents is successful, uncomplicated with a reasonable recovery time. 

Ouch, 

D