I hate it when he’s right | Column | The Press and Standard

by | March 31, 2018 5:00 pm

Last Updated: March 28, 2018 at 10:37 am

Last week this time, I was hopping everywhere on one foot. It was less fun than it sounds.
I had plantar fasciitis, which is common among people who run, or stand a lot, or breathe. In case you’re unfamiliar, PF causes intense, burning pain when your heel touches the ground.
At first it’s only in the morning; those first steps right out of bed will have you speaking in tongues. It goes away after you move around for a few minutes. Then it doesn’t. It hangs around, with varying degrees of agony, throughout the day.
I read everything I could find on PF, and started with the ice, the stretching, the ibuprofen, the Epsom salts, the arch supports, a funky roller that costs 40 bucks, and special padded socks. Nothing helped. (Thankfully, the pain was only in the right foot. If it were both feet, I’d have chewed them off by now.)
Finally, after weeks of staggering and hopping like a drunk bunny, my husband urged me to get a cortisone injection.
“I had plantar fasciitis five years ago. One shot fixed me up, and it didn’t hurt,” he said smoothly. (We’ve been married for 12 years and I don’t recall him hopping around the house, but whatever.)
Next, I consulted social media. Friends said: “The shot hurt but it helped,” and “The shot didn’t hurt and it helped,” and “It really hurt and didn’t help at all, run for your life.”
My husband is very persuasive and our podiatrist is great, so finally I shrugged and made an appointment.
Note: I have a pretty high tolerance for pain. I’ve had a spinal tumor, abscessed teeth, Mohr’s surgeries, a cone biopsy (look it up) and some nasty blisters. The point is, my body is a wreck—no, the point is, I can handle pain. I didn’t think the shot would be a big deal.
HAHAHAHA! That was before a large-bore needle injected what felt like battery acid into my size 6 foot.
Before we go any further, know that my foot doc is wonderful. During my appointment, he listened, asked questions, made suggestions and agreed that a cortisone shot was the way to go.
As he sprayed my foot with a numbing agent, I said, “Look, if my foot jerks, it’s involuntary.”
He smiled, uncapped the syringe and said, “Don’t worry. I’ve done a couple of these.”
In one motion, he seized my foot and inserted the needle in my heel. The sting was surprisingly sharp, but I breathed deeply and thought, “This isn’t so bad.”
Then he said, “Here comes the medicine.”
WHOOOOOOOO!!! I sounded like Ric Flair. The pain was—well, imagine razors slashing the sole of your foot.
My eyes watered. My nose ran. I gritted my teeth, raised my arms and started speaking loudly to my Savior.
My last words (cortisone takes about 10 seconds to inject) were: “God almighty, doc, what did I ever do to you?”
At last, it was over. He handed me new orthotics and a booklet of stretching exercises while I put on my shoe. As I whimpered my way to the receptionist’s desk, it hit me: I wasn’t limping. There was no pain! Thank you, Jesus!
At home, I told Widdle Baby two things: I was pain-free for the first time in two months, and he was a big, fat fibber.
“Why did you say it didn’t hurt?” I cried.
“Oh, it hurt like ****,” he replied. “But I knew if I told you, you wouldn’t go.”
I hate it when he’s right.

(Julie R. Smith, who stretches that foot morning. noon and night, can be reached at widdleswife@aol.com.)

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