my left foot

Have you ever been in the middle of telling a story and realized you forgot to tell an important fact at the start?


With jokes, it is death.  With essays, not so much.


But several of you caught me in a bit of missing narrative when I mentioned "Now, my recent injury to my left foot is restricting me" in colossus bestriding two worlds.  The email began almost immediately.  What injury?


I thought I had told you, but I guess not.


The tale is nowhere near as exotic as breaking my right ankle while indulging my more adventurous side.  Not to ruin the tale, but I really do not know what happened.


Two weeks ago, I decided it was time for me to get a little exercise.  I had essentially been sedentary for five months.  My physical therapy was going well enough that I could put almost all of my increasing weight on my right foot.  I had very little dorsiflexion -- bending my foot back toward the shin.  But I could easily walk places as long as I did not encounter irregular terrain.


So, I decided it was time to walk to work.  The weather was perfect.  And the two-mile walk would help me to start shedding some of my extra pounds.


And it was a good idea.  On Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I slowed down my pace enough to make my right foot feel comfortable.  It was working out well.  I was getting exercise.  Fresh air.  And camaraderie with my fellow morning walkers.  It felt great.


Then came Thursday morning.  I was about one-third of the way to work when my left foot began to hurt.  Just a little.  Out of the blue.  But with each step, it hurt more.  By the time I arrived at the office, it hurt enough I could barely put any weight on it.


The morning walks stopped.  Since then, I have minimized putting any weight on it.  When I descend stairs, I look as if I am auditioning for a role as Quasimodo.  No radiculopathy.  Just pain in the foot.


For two weeks I have let it rest.  Yesterday I decided enough was enough, and walked to work.  And made it with a minimum of pain.


I also saw my doctor that morning.  She had no diagnosis.  But she agreed with me it could be a stress fracture.  If it does not get better, I will see her before I leave for Mexico.


But she had a very good piece of news for me -- that I will tell you on Friday when it becomes official.  At least, I hope it becomes official.


For now, I will nurse both feet back to health.  After all, my small fishing village by the sea is a walking place.  And I will need two good feet.