First world problem, real world problem

It turns out that I actually did not have a stress fracture, although when I saw my podiatrist today he said it was a good thing that I wore the boot because I was probably on the way to getting one, and catching it early nipped it in the bud.

When I went for a little test run a few days ago, my big toe really hurt, though. Even when I wasn't moving, I got shooting pains in it. So today I asked for, and got, a cortisone shot.

Dr. Wolf said I need to ice it and baby it for a couple of days, after which I can get back to tennis. I said I was disappointed because I thought I could play tomorrow.

As I was leaving, I shrugged and said, "First world problem, I guess."

He got a kick out of that and said he had never heard it. I hadn't either until Katie told me about it being a popular topic on the internet. I think I am going to email him this link that explains it. The examples of first world problems contrasting with real world problems can really make you stop and think.

Changing the topic now from feet to face, here is an update on the natural progression after the PDT. As expected, my skin is peeling, and I have to admit it is difficult to stop myself from helping it along. Katie has caught me fussing with the things on my skin and has said, "MOM, stop doing that," and so I need to internalize my daughter and keep my hands off my face.

It reminds me of the bad old days of getting so sunburned that my skin would peel off in sheets, which I thought was really cool and also a sign that tanning in earnest could begin. In addition to sunbathing, I was also a lifeguard, and that added to my sun exposure.

You might not think it when you look at me now, but my skin is actually fair. It darkened after chemotherapy, a process known as hyperpigmentation. In the off-season when I haven't been outside in the sun, sometimes people wonder if I've gone on a vacation.

They ask, "Where did you get that tan?"

It would definitely be a conversation stopper to say that I got it in the hospital during chemotherapy, so I make up some fabulous island destination.

Only kidding. Mostly I just shrug my shoulders and say that I don't really know.

Three days: tales of my toe and other stories

Saturday: I dreamt that my father had come back and was looking great. He was jumping around, and my mother and I told him to calm down because this was his second chance and he didn't want to get sick and die again.

Sunday: I dreamt that my mother came back and looked beautiful with her dark shiny hair that she was about to put in rollers. We were getting ready to go out, and I asked if I could share her bathroom mirror to put on my makeup because it was better than the mirror in our bathroom. (True, it really was.) Plus, the bathroom that I shared with Diane was filled with towels, and somebody needed to do a wash.

Sometimes when they come back I am comforted, but other times like this I wake up so sad that they are not really back after all.

Today: Dream sadness on top of piercing big toe pain. Close to tears. It hurts so much I can barely walk. Last night, rather than sit in pain, I took an oxycodone. I am not supposed to take ibuprofen or any other anti-inflammatories because they thin your blood. I am not supposed to take Tylenol because it is not good for my liver. I know exactly why I never got addicted to "oxy" even though yes, it does make you feel good briefly. I wake up with a headache and take the Tylenol anyway.

I went to Esselon early to finish writing something and also, true confessions, to have a raspberry oatmeal muffin. I called my podiatrist from outside the door because his office hadn't opened when I left.  (Yes, I have a podiatrist in addition to all the other doctors I see. I went to him years ago for a surgical procedure on an ingrown toenail, shown smiling through the pain in photo at right, recovering from the procedure.)

The first appointment was not until Nov. 17. I said I was really nervous about having an untreated possible infection due to my history, and the receptionist said OK, Thursday then.

A man who overheard this conversation said he had channeled his guru, who left his physical body in 1967 but whose spirit was telling my new "friend" to advise me to go to the nearby Cooley Dickinson clinic on University Drive. He wrote out the directions word by word and then listed five podiatrists who might be able to see me the same day if the clinic doctor intervened.

I decided to soak in Epsom salts tonight instead and call my own podiatrist the next few days to see if there are cancellations.

Next stop was the Jones Library to get a book that we are reading for book club: "Empty Mansions: The Mysterious Life of Huguette Clark."  It was on the lower level on the lowest shelf. I got down on the floor to get the book and was pleased to be able to get into a lunge position and get up from there with no problem. (It's the little things.)

I had seen a sign saying Kindles were available to borrow, so I stopped at the reference desk, where a nice librarian showed me how to use one. I am going to read BJ Novak's short stories just for fun. Believe it or not, it was the first time I ever even touched a Kindle.

The librarian said he had just read in a journal that people absorb way more reading print than on a screen. Like I said, I am going to try the Kindle, but I am not going to get one,  just maybe take one out again the next time I fly.

Foot fault

I thoroughly enjoyed my private tennis lesson with George on Wednesday, but my foot was not so happy.

I am afraid the crazy-making plantar fasciitis might be returning. This is an inflammation that leads to heel pain on an area about the size of a quarter. It hurts like crazy. When I had it after my first remission in 2003, I complained more about it than I ever complained about cancer.

People who have had it know what I mean. It is just infuriating and incredibly painful. A lot of runners get it, but others are not immune.

To treat it, I got cortisone shots, stretched a lot and rolled my bare foot over a tennis ball to stretch out the ligament. I went to a chiropractor. I took Advil. At night I wore an ungainly boot that keeps your foot flexed. I got several pairs of orthotics until I got the right kind from a physical therapist.

Before those orthotics straightened me out, I had to skip tennis and running for months.

Over the years I've felt a few twinges and panicked, but it never flared up. I'm hoping this will turn out to be one of those instances.

For starters, I probably need new orthotics. Mine, a soft kind, are worn down and chewed around the edges by a certain puppy. I hadn't thought about it much because I've been relatively inactive for so long.

On Thursday I had an appointment with my podiatrist, Walter Wolf, to check on the toenail surgery he had performed – not related to the plantar fasciitis. I told him my symptoms, and he pressed on the area in question. Yup. It hurt a lot.

Wally said I had an overuse injury. He said to stretch more, to ice after exercise, to wear the boot and to skip tennis on Friday.

Not the boot again! Not skipping tennis!

I whined about these terrible prospects.

As I asked in an earlier post when I had a similar response to some other inconvenience, "What am I, ten years old?"

Actually, since in transplant terms I am less than 2 years old, maybe that is my excuse for responding, and behaving, like a child.

I didn't wear the boot. I played tennis Friday morning, had a terrific time...and got another ace. Once I got moving, my foot felt fine.

My heel is killing me today.

I might have to behave for a few days.