Thursday, October 23, 2014

Playing Footsie

This is difficult to explain at times, but I have problems with my metatarsal bones in my feet. Normally they should extend straight out, but I have to be the black sheep. My metatarsals bend downward protruding through the skin. This causes major calluses to form, which in turn causes major pain when walking.

For years, I have gone to podiatrists who have created what are known as appliances for my shoes, but this has never been a proven solution. Those made of leather would eventually fall apart while those made of acrylic were damn uncomfortable. Eventually, one foot doctor suggested surgery. Having inherited this from my mother, yet another nasty body attribute she shared in her gene pool, I knew surgery was not a sure fire option. Mom had the surgery, was out of work for 6 weeks and four years later, the problem returned. My doctor was honest enough to share the long term risks. 

Finally, one doctor offered the suggestion that Birkenstocks would lessen the pain as their insole was similar to the appliances I used. They were correct. When I had to play dress-up, I used the Birkenstock leather insoles for my shoes. Perfect!

When I started having back issues, my massage therapist noted that my feet were still getting callused, though they were not painful as before. What he noted was that it was throwing my gait off just enough to also throw my back out of alignment. His suggestion was getting a pedicure to have the calluses cut down. Each trip to the podiatrist in the past, the doctor did the same thing, he trimmed the calluses.

For the past 4 years, once a month, I visit the pedicurist. I have had utter faith in her, watching as she sprayed her tools with antiseptic spray and has others soaking in a tray. Last year, just as a cautionary measure, I mentioned I am diabetic. Knowing the risk of foot problems with diabetes, it was wise to err on the side of caution.

This last week, when I went in for my monthly, Suzie cut the side of my foot. It took all self-control not to leap out of the chair. It was not until I watched her sopping up blood that it dawned on me the depth of the cut. She apologized, showed me she had cut her own finger earlier that morning and moved on.

After finishing, she put two Band-Aids on the wound. When home again, I had Ron replace them with a larger pad covered with triple antibiotic cream. Nightmares ensued about gangrene or some other nasty disease. I am a slow healer, but I am comforted in knowing that I am just borderline diabetic.

Until this heals completely, I can only put my best foot forward while kind of hopping on the other.

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