So I went to my orthopedic/podiatrist appointment today. I know you'll all be shocked to learn that I have :::drumroll::: Plantar Fasciitis! Shocking, I know. They took a couple xrays of my foot (you know, to boost my bill a bit) and then I sat in the room for like an hour and a half. It's ok though because I was by myself and I had my crocheting to keep me company and I was by myself and it was quiet and I was by myself.
So this doctor finally comes in and I immediately think hey, he's kinda cute. Good thing he's not my gyno! After asking me a couple questions, he said something along the lines of, "You have plantar fasciitis. It's very common. I see a dozen cases of this a day. We need to treat this. It doesn't really matter if there's a bone spur or not.""OK then. I'm glad you took the xrays.""On a scale of 1 - 10, how much does it hurt?"
Ok, I don't do scales. I hate when they ask you "on a scale of 1 - 10..." I countered with, "I don't know! I've given birth to 6 kids without epidurals. This really isn't all that painful. Then again, it hurts enough that I'm here. I don't know. I have a fairly high tolerance to pain."
He poked my heel and had me push my foot against his hand in all directions. At this point, I just really wanted to leave. Not because he was hurting my foot. Not because I'd already been there for over an hour. Not because I needed to get home and start making dinner. Nope, I wanted to leave because I was so embarrassed. I could tell that my foot was all cold and sweaty and this poor guy was TOUCHING it! Ewww. I swear I have a problem. Whenever I'm nervous, my hands sweat. Wait, that's an understatement. That's like saying that Niagra Falls is a little moist. Well, apparently my feet get all cold and clammy too. I guess it could be worse though. When I went for my physical a couple months ago, my legs stuck to the paper on the examining table. I don't mean that the paper clung to my legs a little bit as I stood up. Oh noooo. I mean that when I got up, I spent the next 5 minutes peeling off little bits of soggy paper that had stuck to the backs of my legs. Now this wouldn't have been so bad had I been alone. I could've peeled the paper off, thrown it out and unrolled the sheet of paper to nicely recover the table. But nope, it was not to be. The doctor stood there waiting to walk me down the hall to the lab while I picked off the shredded paper that was glued to my legs, a look of disgust and horror on his face. (In all fairness, it was a million degrees outside, I was running late, my tooth fell out, and I drove into oncoming traffic. I did have an excuse for my hot flash that day. Still... I told you my thermostat was broken. A person should not have hot flashes of that magnitude!)
Anyway, after pushing and poking my foot some, he said, "We'll give you a shot of cortisone in your heel. It'll help with the pain."
"LOL!!! No really, what's the plan?"
"Really, a shot of cortisone in your heel will help."
"Ummm, a shot in my heel? For real? No thank you."
"It will help with the inflammation."
"Yeah, I'll pass, thank you."
He eyed me and said, "You just finished telling me you had a high tolerance for pain, but you're scared of a shot?! Big baby!"
"I'm not scared of shots. Honestly. Shots don't bother me. Shots in my arm, my leg, my butt, heck, I had to give myself shots in the abdomen twice a day, every day throughout my pregnancy. But my HEEL? A shot in my heel? There's no padding there! That sounds more painful than the stupid plantar fasciitis! No thank you."
After the doctor coaxed me out from under the examining table, he told me I could take roughly 25 Advil a day for two weeks and we'd see if that did the trick. [Don't take that medical advice. I was just kidding about the 25 pills a day. He actually said to take 4 pills 3 X a day.]
And the best part of all - I have to wear shoes. Shoes! I have to wear shoes! Do you hear me? Do you understand? I HATE shoes! Still, I'm not fond of foot pain, so I resolved to wear my shoes in the house. I walked in from my appointment and stopped myself mid-kick and slid my foot right back into my stupid shoe. I walked out to the kitchen to start dinner. Joe called me outside to show me the garage door and as I walked out the door, I looked down at my feet. Oh crap. My shoes were off. When did I take them off? Ugh. This is going to take some serious retraining.