Off the Cuff / My Other Journal

Defiant Feet

Forgive the pun; my feet are getting out of hand.

What I consider a cataclysm within my walking…ahem, job (well, not really a job, but since my walking was mandated by my internist, the insurgent that I am, I find something to revolt against) started a few years ago when the big toe joint on the left foot had to be operated. Although it was classified as a bunion for the dummies in the insurance company, the doctor told me, it was no bunion, but a far reminder from my once upon a time soccer career. My soccer career?

The only soccer career I can remember is kicking around a soccer ball a few times in the backyard with my sons and the dog when soccer first started to introduce itself to USA. But this was more than two decades ago.

Well, who am I to contradict a medical opinion! I nodded, thinking maybe the doc thought I was younger than I really was. Maybe even as young as Mia Hamm. Mia Hamm? Me? I gloated internally.

“Did you really?” he asked.

“Did I what?”

“Play soccer?”

“Somewhat,” I replied meekly, thinking it could be wiser to keep the conversation to one or two-word statements. After all, this doctor was planning to take out tiny bone fragments from the joint and he might not take well to the challenge of his opinion.

That toe healed soon enough and for a couple more years my feet problems passed the baton to muscle pulls in the legs. As soon as the muscle pulls stopped, the right foot started to impose sanctions on my walking.

Last October, when I made a return call to the doctor for the misaligned small toe bone in the right foot, I had readied myself for another foot operation, but he had other plans. He said, I could manage with some cortisone shots at least for a while.

The cortisone shot’s taking effect was almost immediate, and for about eight months, I forgot I had a rebellious right foot. Then it started again two months ago. This time I was sure I would go under the knife again, because of the way the foot was putting itself forward, but luckily today, another cortisone shot did the trick.

Now, thinking back, nostalgia has set in. Who can believe that, once upon a dinosaur time, I was the young girl who could run about town in high stilettos? In those days, triple A-sized shoes were too wide for me. But during the last couple of months, the widest sizes could hurt so much that, during some of my walks, I felt like calling Triple A to give me a lift home.

Well, my right foot is not killing me anymore and tomorrow I am starting on my a-mile-a-day walks. I am sure, however, my feet -soon enough- will make their presence known again. In the meantime, I’ll talk to them in tender loving whispers and keep painting my toenails in soft pink. Maybe that’ll do the trick.


PS. Ooops, for the feet in my mouth.These feet have a mind of their own.