I thought I had twenty more years to go before I started to fall apart, bit by bit, part by prosthetic part. I thought the pain in my right big toe was just due to wearing stilettos and every woman had them. (As in Carrie’s line to her mother in the movie of the same name, “Their called breasts mother and every woman has them!) I thought I was visiting a podiatrist one sunny afternoon just for a quick cure for an unsightly toe fungus. But then, could you believe it, he touched me on said foot!
“ARGHHHHHHHHHHH! YES THAT HURTS!” I hollered down at him when he tweaked my unsuspecting big toe. And yes, I had to repeat the same response when he dared to tweak the underside and then when he asked about any other pain I was almost afraid to admit that yes, my right hip hurts too. For how long, he queried next. Oh, just a couple of years since I’ve upped my spinning workouts. So what?
Well, that doctor, who didn’t have a patient in his entire office below retirement age had the nerve to tell me to…God even now, three weeks later, I still can hardly believe it: 1. Quit the bike. 2. Sit still for the cortisone shots. 3. Get fitted for an ORTHOTIC that would cause me to buy an entire new wardrobe of size 10 shoes to fit the darn thing and, yes, make sure that they are the nursing type style, enclosed footwear and finally, 4.
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Think about surgery if not corrected by all of the above measures.
Of course Eve of Destruction balked. What did this doctor know about any kind of bedside manner or me? I told him that I had the new budget and tastes of Imelda Marcos in my walk-in closet! I told him I lived to spin! I reminded him that I lived in Santa Clarita where open-toed shoes and pedicures were mandatory.
“You wear glasses without worrying about your looks don’t you?” Not realizing he was rubbing salt on my newly-diagnosed bifocals AND that my husband just had laser surgery on his eyes and looks naked and hot and young and…well at least you Signal readers are getting the picture.
It’s not just vanity. It’s not just comfort. It’s not even just the age issue. It’s that this doctor was moving my cheese over and over again.
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And not even the dimmest or remotest of clues was going to get a budge from him.
His nurse taped my foot twice a week while I waited for my orthotic. The doctor came in and checked me at these appointments, pleased to hear either the cortisone or the taping or the sedentary behavior had done the trick.
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When I quit taking the anti-fungus medication after a week of 2-4 hours of sleep per night they told me that sleeplessness wasn’t a side effect. (An Internet search confirmed for me that it was.) But, coupled with my stress level I could see that I hadn’t a chance in hell of sleeping anyway. Why did my beloved red wine suddenly taste putrid? Apparently another side effect I was allowed to enjoy for several more weeks after discontinuing the medication. Anyway they delivered the orthotic to me two days ago. I’m following their instructions, for a change, am being compliant. It seems to be working…so far.
So you wanna know the kicker? Ed was gone to the National Fire Academy for his annual two-week class and then, after coming home for a couple of days, went off to Dallas for his first Fire Chief’s convention all during this time. I can’t get a thing out of my doctor in the sympathy department so tonight, after 10 PM when The Big Chief finally gets home he knows the doghouse awaits. I mean really! The guys at the Fire Academy have written on the blackboard, “New from Home” awaiting my calls for help, for how many years Signal readers? Three? Four! Not enough sympathy I say! What’s your vote for your favorite kvetcher?
I’ll wait until he’s home for a few days to tell him that the orthotic worked grandly at my spin class today. And after he’s had Samantha, dubbed “She who cannot wait” for a few days on his own, been to soccer, acclimated to the SCV heat again and generally “Walked a few miles in my (orthotic) shoes” I’ll let him off of the hook! But the doctor? Never! I can still remember my original response to his diagnosis that I only had the nerve to play in my head: “I just want you to die”.
Respectfully submitted,
Eve of Destruction
