Git Yer Spurs On

Cowboy spurs?

Nope.

Bone spurs.

That's right, friends. I am not the 26-year-old woman (girl? I don't feel like a woman, yet. Weird.) you think I am. I am actually a 94-year-old woman who wears surgical shoes and bakes fruit cakes that never get eaten. I have bone spurs... in my feet... and they hurt. Oh dear Lord, do they hurt.

Let's start at the beginning. I tend to stub my toes and fall a lot, and anytime this happens I feel excruciating pain in my big toes. Now, I've always been incredibly clumsy; so much so that Mother Ethel nicknamed me Grace when I was in high school. The joke in my family was that nobody understood how I managed to dance every Friday night (insert drill team officer salute and jump split here) yet I couldn't seem to walk without sustaining injury. I've always thought everyone had terrible pain in their feet so I never did anything about it. In hindsight, I have absolutely no idea why I thought that and it turns out you're not supposed to have that kind of pain. Who knew?

About a year and a half ago I had a life-changing conversation with Cousin Fred. I was talking about the pain in my feet and he assured me that a podiatrist could probably help the pain if not fix the problem altogether. WHAT?!

So I went to the place where I knew I would find the best podiatrist out there. Google. I am a firm believer that all of the best doctors have multiple great reviews on my favorite search engine, and this approach truly has not failed me yet. (You should meet my pediatrician; she's wonderful and fabulous and - you guessed it - we were united through Google.)

My search led me to a nearby podiatrist and I knew the moment we met he was legit. Let's just say he wears a thick gold chain (seriously) that has a giant gold medallion that looks like this:

Yep, that is the logo of podiatry caduceus. I love a doctor who proudly sports his specialty's symbol... around his neck... on a giant gold chain. Like I said - legit.

I had never been to the podiatrist before, and I was easily the youngest person in the waiting room by at least 42 years. Easily.

Fast forward through the paperwork, my chat with the nurse, and the official nice-to-meet-you-my-feet-hurt-so-expletive-bad introductory talk with the doctor (let's call him Dr. Medallion). After taking x-rays of each foot Dr. Medallion sat me down and informed me in no uncertain terms, "You have bone spurs from hell." Those were his actual words. Basically, I have been walking around for years with bone spurs growing on the bone of each big toe. Don't know what a bone spur is? Neither did I, other than knowing my 89-year-old Popeye had them on his heels a few years ago. If you have time Google it. They really aren't that exciting, though. Mainly just painful.

So Medallion tells me my best option long term is surgical removal, however with a new teaching job and a 4-month-old Little Ricky I opted for the short term solution - nail avulsion. I wouldn't Google that one. Definitely don't Google image it.


Since then I have been back roughly every 6 months to reevaluate the situation, however I was pregnant with the Bulldog for the last two visits (remember, we're poor planners) and apparently operating on pregnant women is frowned upon in the medical community unless absolutely necessary. Turns out bone spur removal is not absolutely necessary.


Recently the pain has returned, and with a vengeance. So my dear Mother Ethel-in-law kindly agreed to watch the kidlets so I could take a trip to see Dr. Medallion once again.

Now I haven't been to see Medallion since I turned 26 in August, so yesterday I was the youngest in the waiting room by only 41 years. I call that progress.


After confirming that yes, I still have bone spurs (duh.) and yes, my feet are still failing me miserably, it was time to finally (finally!) set a date for surgery. You know that feeling you get on Christmas morning? That's how I felt when Medallion said the time is now.

We reviewed the risks of surgery, what to expect, blah blah blah. But when we started talking about the recovery, he mentioned what might be the greatest part of the whole deal - surgical shoes. After the surgery I will get to wear surgical shoes for 2-3 weeks. That's weeks, not days. I don't know why that is so funny to me, but I promise to take lots of pictures of myself going about my normal business wearing surgical shoes. The only sad part is that my surgery is two days after our anniversary, which means I will not get to wear my fancy kicks to our annual celebration dinner at III Forks. I'm sure Ricky will be thrilled.


Dr. Medallion wanted to make sure I was aware that I wouldn't be able to wear running shoes for about 6 weeks post surgery, which means I won't be able to go running during that time. I think that will be just fine, Doc. I am always looking for a  solid excuse not to work out. This could also be my opportunity to pretend I'm on The Biggest Loser and use this piece of gym equipment:

She looks like she's having such a good time! I want to have a good time.

I've never actually seen someone use this machine at my gym, but it's there. I just wish I had Bob Harper with me to yell, "Cycle those arms faster, girl!" 

(Side note: I would be a great contestant on The Biggest Loser. I watch it every week and imagine myself kicking ass and taking names on the ranch. Unfortunately, I don't think I'm large enough and apparently NBC is not looking for applicants who only have 15 pounds to lose. Dang.)

Anyway, surgery is set for March 16. Hooray for Dr. Medallion!!


TTYL,
Lucy