Thursday, October 14, 2010

The Agony of Da-Feet!

{Once more I issue the warning:  This is Final PART (3) of a rather detailed and tedious story involving my feet.  As previously stated I completely understand and VERY MUCH agree with any feelings of dread that may be involved in the act of reading about another person's feet and the troubles thereof.  Please, do not feel in any way obligated to begin at the beginning with Part One in which I begin to explain just how I got into this present situation.  Also please feel free to skip Part Two where I go on and on about why the solution to my foot problem is such a harrowing one.  If, however, you enjoy reading about ghoulish medical treatments and the doctors who love them, click HERE for Part One and continue on to Part Two and share in ...The Agony of My Feet.}

The nurse on the other end of the line said that there was an opening on Thursday afternoon for the "procedure."  I fretted and I whined. I worried and I complained. I wore my poor Man's ears O.U.T.!  By the time I'd awakened on Wednesday morning, I decided that my feet were healed.  All better, no need to fear.

 I texted my Man and told him that I was going to cancel the appointment if my feet continued to feel good.  He reluctantly said to do what ever I felt I needed to do, but to be sure that the problem was fixed. At this point I would like to say that my Man, my Man who is "terrified-ER" of needles and injections (and the children's loose teeth, by the way) than I am, had NOT been commiserating with my plight with as much earnestness as I felt was necessary in this grave situation. "You've had four C-sections, you can handle this!" he said time and again.  What I wanted to hear was, "Oh you poor thing, I can't let your precious feet endure such harsh treatment. Forget the injection darling, I'll carry you around in my arms until your feet are all better."  Apparently, chivalry is dead.

I called my friend at the doctor's office and asked if it was vital that I receive the injection sooner than later.  It was not vital that I be shot sooner than later, so I CANCELLED the date of doom.

About one hour later, my feet hurt so bad that I almost called her back and rescheduled. I just couldn't make the call though.  At church later that evening, I saw my friend, the receptionist, and told her that I was a mental case and that I'd be calling her back tomorrow.  She smiled and said that there were still a few appointments open the next day.  I called mid-morning the next day and the nurse who has given the children most of their shots and has weighed their little baby-selves each visit happened to answer.  "Hi Mrs. L, " I said, "It's me again, I've been driving Mrs. C nuts for the last few days, I'm trying to figure out what to do about my feet."

"Yes," she said smiling so much I could hear it over the phone, "she told me."  "Hmmmm," I wondered, "Did she tell you that I was driving her nuts, or that I was having foot trouble?" I didn't have the mental energy to dwell on it long because Nurse L continued speaking, "I've had it done and it is uncomfortable...." she continued to describe just why and how it was uncomfortable and then said, " do you want to come in?"
"NO!" I answered honestly, "but you'd better schedule me."
"A 3:15 just opened up for you today, do you want it?"
"NO!" I said again, "but put my name down."

"I'm gonna get that shot in my foot," I told the kids, looking for the sympathy I felt I was due and was not receiving from my Man.
"Mom!" Meg said with feeling, "Dad will be so happy." (Read: Dad will be so happy not to have to keep hearing about your feet and your fear and your fanatics!)
"Oh Mom," Cole said gravely, "are they gonna give you a knock out pill or something first? That sounds awful." Ahhhh, music to my ears.

Going on concurrently was a flurry of text messaging between my husband, and a friend who had recently had the same "procedure" preformed on his heels, and me.  My Man was in the middle, "R says they'll spray cold stuff on your heel and you won't feel the stick, it'll just feel really warm. He knows, he's had it done twice." RED FLAG RED FLAG!

"TWICE??? Why twice?" Time passed and the answer was, "I don't know, he doesn't have the same thing you do so maybe that's why."
"What does he have?" I texted back.
"I don't know," typed he, "I just know it's different than that thing you said. Don't worry about it so much, it can't be as bad as you are imagining."
I really didn't agree with his reasoning. Not. At. All. I decided at that moment that my Man really needed to accompany me to the "procedure." He agreed and our Helper Extraordinaire agreed to come tend to the children in the meantime.

"Gretchen, you can come on back now," said Nurse L. "Are you ready?"
"NO!" I said to her for the third time that day.
"Now I've had this done two or three times, it's not really that bad."
"Mrs. L, " I explained, "YOU are a NURSE and nurses are tough women, I AM NEITHER."
"You'll do fine." she said.
"That's just what I told her," said my that man that I married.

I could hear the doctor coming down the hall, I loaded up my iPod and got my headphones ready to plug into my ears to block out the sound of what surely would be my screaming.  Our family doctor, who by the way, was in med school with my crazy brother-in-law
(Mark, in the middle of a water fight with my MOTHER, in her kitchen.)

and has a similar sense of humor and is YOUNGER than me, greeted me saying,
"OK, I see you've got your music, is there anything else we can do for you here, light a few candles, dim the lights, get you a fluffy pillow?" (My Man thought this funny.) "Really," he continued, "the thought of it  is much worse than the real thing. I just had the same thing done to my shoulder this morning. Oh, OK" he said when I leveled him a look that said, "Your shoulder is lots softer than my heel." Dr. E picked up my foot and said, "Where does it hurt the worst, that's where the injection needs to be." I explained and then listened as the doctor said...

{ALERT: If you are "delicate" like me, what comes next could make you lose consciousness. You may want to skip over until you see ********** across the screen, after that you should be safe.}

"It looks like I'll need to inject here in the side of your heel and then work my way down to the place in the center of your heel. But don't worry, there's numbing stuff in with the cortisone so it will numb as I go." CUTE. "Wouldn't it be better to numb BEFORE you go?" I wondered.
Then from the far corner of the room comes a voice, "Did she tell you that her other foot is hurting her as well?" that man I married.  "Do you know what's hurting on HIM?" I wanted to suggest to the doctor, but instead asked, "How do I keep from having to have a second shot in this foot?"
"Well, this is a step in the process.  Next, you'll have to go to physical therapy if this doesn't help. But it doesn't hurt to try this first."
"Really," screamed my frightened brain, "is the Physical Therapist on vacation this week?  Why can't we start with that??"

"I'll be right back I've got to go get the biggest needle I can find," he joked.

"DARRINNNN, come over here and let me show you what he's going to do to my foot!!" I explained and pointed to illustrate the good doctor's plan.  Finally, my Man paled a bit and gave me the sympathetic look I'd been seeking all along.  Soon after, the doctor returned, and reassessed the situation with my foot and decided to go with a smaller needle and "go in from the bottom of my heel."
Which he proceeded to do. It stung, then it hurt, then it was over.

**********Safe to proceed after this point for the faint of heart************

As my foot began to grow warm and numb, the doctor said, "When you wake up in the morning, you're gonna hate me. It will really hurt bad tomorrow."
Surely he realized that I wasn't too fond of him at present, but I nodded in understanding and tried to take in the information he was giving me.  Last of which was, if this shot helped, I should schedule my other foot's procedure sometime next week. 

The nurse brought in a snazzy pink camouflage band-aid and applied it to the puncture wound in my heel. 

I asked them if they couldn't put my foot in a full cast so I'd have a little something more to show for all of the trauma I'd endured and all of the fuss I'd made.  My friend from church made sure I got a sticker from the basket for a reward and I left the doctor's office feeling very proud to have remained conscious.  

Since my Mom texted me on the way to the doctor's office, "Call me after they revive you and you can see the numbers on the phone," I called her to report that it was all over and that no reviving had been necessary for me or my Man. "Wow!" she said in surprise, "you two are growing up!"  
"On that topic," I said, "tell Dad to call me when he gets home."

Later that evening after the children and my Man had left the roost for a bit, my phone rang, "Hey Babe," my Dad said, "how's your foot?"
"Well, Dad lemme tell you allllll about it...but first, you owe me a Sam's Club size bag of BlowPops!"
(On a related note, I'm headed to the dentist today. 
FEAR NOT, I'm not even thinking about blogging about it!)

**Update**My foot is not experiencing the complete angels-singing-from-the-heavens relief that I'd been expecting, but with some stretching and Aleeve, things seem to be moving in the right direction! I have not decided to put my other foot up for any procedure as yet.



Deborah Ware said...

AND... how do you feel about flip flops now? Are they still on your feet? In the closet? or In the trash?

Gretchen said...

It so happens that my favorite flip flops died at the end of August after two faithful years/summers of service. I fear they will be forever known as my very last pair!! No more for me. I fear however, that I am doomed to the attractive footwear of the cafeteria ladies in my elementary school from here on! Yikes!

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