The pin is coming out! On its own. It’s not supposed to.
This has been a long time coming. For the better part of three years, I’ve been battling a Plantars Wart that was successfully treated but then morphed into hyperplasia and the callus from hell. No amount of intervention short of surgery by the Cutie Pie Foot Doc, aka Kevin Brown, DPM, helped.
The real tragedy of this situation is that I have not been able to wear cute shoes for many of the days during those three years. Or if I did wear cute shoes, I was only able to wear them for an hour or two before I had to take them off. I have found myself barefoot in some strange situations: my son’s wedding in Spain, waiting on an Uber after the Andrea Boccelli concert in the Columbus snow, and routinely at the office. I have walked barefoot down city streets, through the Dollar General and all sorts of other places in the course of my daily living. West Virginia girl or no, this got to be silly.
The Cutie Pie Doc did, about every three months, effect a debridement of the 4th toe of my left foot which is a fancy way of saying he dug out the callus while I gasped in pain. For a few weeks afterward, I would be fine — wearing cute shoes, walking, dancing, and, generally, carrying on as I am wont to do, but then the callus would develop, constrict my toe, and cause pain significant enough to affect my walking ability. When my mom and I went to see the Vietnam Memorial in D.C., I spent a lot of time sitting on a park bench and Uber-ing rather than walking and sightseeing. It was about that time that I said, “Enough.”
I went to see the Cutie Pie Doc again where I repeated my “Enough” and he too said, “Enough.” We agreed on surgical intervention.
So, yesterday at noon I made my way to the surgery center and had my 4th piggie, the one that had none, shortened, tendons moved, arthritis dug out, and a temporary pin inserted. All of that took, according to Cutie Pie, ten minutes. Now nevermind, that I went hours and hours and yet even more hours without morning coffee, it was worth it. Granted, I am on pain pills, but even with a heavily bandaged foot and a pin, mind you, a pin, I am experiencing less pain. Plus I get to stay home from work for a few days.
The downside is the sexy surgical sandal I must wear for two weeks. Oh. And the pin sticking out of the top of my foot. If you look at the photo of my foot at the beginning of this post closely enough you can see the pin.
But I can do this. Yes, I can. I can. Like I said, already there is less pain. And I get to wallow on my beloved sofa and eat junk food wee, wee, wee all the way home for a few days free of work responsibilities and housecleaning responsibilities. It’s a mini-vacation!
Go ahead and laugh. I did and so did she. She even laughed when she found it was broken in two places and required surgery. She laughed during pre-op and laughed post-op. She laughed when she viewed the x-ray showing her dandy new titanium plate and pins.
I ferried her about for a couple of days while we got the medical stuff taken care of, but she’s been pretty self-sufficient. Luckily, it was her left wrist.
Orthopedics have come a long way. She’s not in a cast; she wears a brace which allows her to move her hand. In fact, she has exercises she must do requiring her to move her hand this way and that. Initially, I was worried she wouldn’t do the exercises.
She does them near constantly in between doing stuff she probably shouldn’t be doing: like using her cordless drill to replace a large board in my fence.
Mom’s a character.
On the other end of the spectrum, Chef Boy ‘R Mine has been having trouble with his back. It’s pretty serious and he has a referral to a surgeon. I’m pretty wigged out about it all. He’s only 30.
Step One is for him to have a steroidal lumbar injection to help manage the pain. I’m leaving for Atlanta on Wednesday to be with him and act as his chauffeur the day of the procedure.
Me? I’m more or less intact. I just did a freelance project on self-care and I’m all hyped up to be good to myself. I’ve been doing a pretty good job of it. I had a lovely week at the beach with my best friend. I’ve been getting out and about much more than I have in the past couple of years. I’m active with a book club and a writing group; and starting to hang out in Charleston again.
Although I’m worried about the kid, it’s mostly good to be me these days. While the rain has been unrelenting this summer, I’m having a good time.
A few weeks ago, I fell for no good reason and landed on my knees. The impact was such that I’m quite sure I left an impression in the concrete sidewalk. One knee was torn up and developed a horrendous scab; the other swelled to the size of a softball. Both of them astonished me with their cries of pain.
The pain took my breath. For a good four days, I couldn’t stand or sit or walk or lie down without pain so intense I was reminded of labor. The pain wasn’t baby-producing intense, but it did provoke the same sort of awe.
This week, I got news that sucker-punched me. No. Nobody died. My relationships are all intact except maybe for the relationship I have with myself. For several days, my self-esteem has been crying out with the same level of pain as did my knees.
I have decided to get over it.
Today, I spent my time in the much neglected garden doing triage. I didn’t get as far as I had hoped due to the electric lawnmower dying, but I accomplished much in getting my equilibrium (and self-esteem) back. The puppies frolicked in the warm spring air and I tended to tender plants while guiltlessly executing weeds and banishing leaves.
Gardening season is upon me. I much prefer the awe of an Appalachian spring over the awe of surprise pain.