I ended 2019 with foot surgery. I had been dealing with pain in my foot for nearly a year and had initially chalked it up to being over 40. Literally, I had my 41st birthday and the pain started, just like a car breaking down the day after the warranty expired.
It turns out, I wasn’t old, just extra. I was literally born with an extra bone in my foot called an Accessory Navicular Bone. That accessory bone was banging around like a tennis shoe does inside a dryer. It was knocking against the bone next to it and rubbing against a tendon. Typically I love accessories but this one cost more to remove than buying a new Louis and it came with a custom scar to brand me like a monogram labels a custom bag.
Once I had the surgery, the healing process slowly began. I may have gone under the knife a 41 year old but I came home a solid 84 year old grandma. Falling became an everyday fear for me. My kids had to scrape me off the floor several time during the first few weeks. One time during the day when no one was home, I fell and had to call a friend to pick me up off the ground. I’m sure I looked like a sobbing toddler who needed a hug. The “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” commercial became relatable and very much not funny. Well to me it wasn’t funny, my family thought it was hilarious!
I had been in a cast for 4 weeks when it was finally removed. I was ready to be in a boot and regain my mobility. After a month, I was extremely ready to learn to walk again and put the knee scooter and crutches away. Not being able to walk independently made everything I did take four times as long and at least that much more frustrating.
So when the final cast came off and I saw my leg… or what was left of my leg, all of my spirits fell. Instead of seeing my leg that had always been strong, I saw a leg that had morphed into a pale white toothpick that had no prayer of supporting my weight. My weight that was considerably more after sitting around doing nothing for weeks at this point.
After the cast came off and I came to terms with my chicken leg, I watched myself start to slowly heal. I started to appreciate how amazing the human body really is. When a body part, like my foot, goes through any trauma, the body begins sending extra blood to the trauma site to begin the healing process. For me, this meant that my leg and foot would turn bright “Barney the Dinosaur” purple and stay that color for weeks. The doctor told me my body was over reacting to the trauma. Clearly over reacting is a natural reaction for me and is as much a part of my DNA as my blue eyes and short legs are.
As I write all of this I have started walking again in a boot and have begun some physical therapy. I’m in good company at PT with many of my fellow octogenarians working out next to me. Although with every visit to PT I feel like I get a little closer to my own age and very slowly back to my own weight. My chicken leg is still small but it is getting stronger. The Barney foot is still purple so I guess that means my body continues to over react. Shocking.
Now that I am in week 7 of recovery I am seeing some big improvements. I’m a few weeks away from returning to my normal activities and hopefully making my purple foot chicken leg just a memory.
Erin Has Something To Say 