You would think that I could be mature about it. I believe that everyone who has to wear one of these snazzy boots eventually reaches a new level of insanity. I cannot explain the feeling of claustrophobia that goes along with sporting one.
I managed to become a runner, over the last couple of years. I never imagined that running was for me. But there is nothing like it. I guess you either love it or hate it. There isn’t really a lot in between.
At my peak I was doing seven miles some days. The most I have ever ran at one time was actually only four miles. The other three miles I incorporated spirited walking. In order to keep from dying. Still, I was perfectly pleased with my progress.
Running keeps your legs lean. I actually had killer thighs. It was epic. As an Alabama girl who grew up on biscuits and gravy, I didn’t even know that my thighs could be lean. Running is also great for the mind and spirit. There is just something about being free on the open road. Just you, a good pair of shoes and some tunes.
So naturally, since I found something that I loved to do, it would eventually turn on me. I started having pain in my right foot. In the mornings upon getting out of bed, I would have to hobble across the floor for the first several steps. It was a bit extreme. My foot was very stiff and sore. I thought it was normal. I was a runner.
I lived with the pain for months. Partially because getting older means new aches and pains. But more so probably because I didn’t want to hear what a doctor would say. It finally became obvious that there was no way around it. I made an appointment.
Four x-rays later. The doctor said he didn’t see any problems on the scans. He asked me to elaborate on the pain. So I did. He moved closer to examine my foot. Then, as if he was professionally trained (ummm….because he was) he knew the exact place to apply pressure. And in that one squeeze he found it. A stress fracture in my third metatarsal.
He found the fracture on his first try. So I guess the other four times that he squeezed my third metatarsal were merely for his entertainment. Because by that last one, I was contemplating a malpractice suit. It hurt.
His orders were to remove all pressure from the bone to allow it to heal. Meaning a fracture boot. Which by the way I already owned, from breaking my foot back in 2007. If I am anything, I am clumsy.
Seemed reasonable. He was a doctor of bones. And feet. And stuff.
I went home and found my old boot in the top of a hall closet and strapped it on. At first they are kind of fun. Something different. A conversation piece. But then I realized that it was my driving foot. I was not about to drive while sporting a medical boot. I felt sure I would wind up parked in someone’s house.
As a mother, part of the job description is taxi driver. To try to explain just how annoying it is to remove the boot for all of my many short trips, over and over, all day, every day. There just aren’t words.
After about 1 day the boot is no longer fun. It begins to feel like there’s a small child holding onto the bottom half of your leg. It honestly feels like dragging around a kid.
It is hot. And uncomfortable. And awful. It’s basically like torture. I had to clean a spill from off the floor once and before I knew it I was sitting on the floor, wondering how in the heck I was ever going to get back up. It is very limiting.
Everyone wants to talk about your boot when you take it out in public. Not because they are concerned for you, but rather because they want to tell you about the horrific accident that THEY had that landed them in a boot, at some point in their life.
Oh you have a stress fracture, huh? Well I shattered my ankle in 1996 while riding a horse. I wore a boot for a year and I have a steel rod and my ankle still hurts when it rains.
Their story only making you feel like a loser with loser bones that just wimped out on you, for no good reason.
Oh and I forgot to mention that the doctor told me that I needed to start taking a daily calcium supplement. Because as we age the bones become brittle. So now I am old with wimpy bones.
The other day I became so frustrated that I removed the boot and shoved it into a closet. My husband noticed and inquired about the missing boot. I told him that the boot WAS NOT the boss of me and neither was that doctor. I was never wearing it again. So basically I threw a tantrum like a child.
After walking around for a bit in my rebellious state, my foot started to hurt. My husband pointed out that I had probably set my progress back weeks.
So I went and got the stupid boot. And I hate it when he is right.
Today marks exactly four weeks of wearing the boot. I cancelled my follow-up appointment at the bone and joint clinic two weeks ago. I thought it was silly to let someone else squeeze my foot when I can do that myself for free. But once again I had to admit that I don’t have a medical degree. And that doctor went to school for a long time to be able to properly squeeze a fractured metatarsal.
My foot still hurts. So I made another appointment. Take care of your body. It’s the only one you have.