2002 Story Set
| March 18, 2002 About 5 years ago, I had my younger son's feet surgically corrected from ingrown toenails. Unfortunately, I was with Kaiser when this started. They did some God-awful procedure that resulted in my son being in great distress and the first instance of his bending the side rails right off a hospital bed. They were not, whatever they did, successful. You see, my younger son, and not the older one, has my father's feet. I discovered this after my father's funeral when sitting around the kitchen table in my stepmother's house with that half of my siblings. (Four parents, eight brothers and sisters, one of which shares both parents.) I commented about my feet, my son's feet, and learned first hand that these are the "White" feet. These two brothers also had them. My father had had them. Since I did not really get to know my Dad until I was 18, I did not know this little fact. I had, on several occasions, suffered ingrown toenails in spite of careful trimming, because my large toes have nails that curve under at the sides. In my case, the outside edge has them. I can handle the inside edges. I have had to seek help from doctors for the outside edges when they get away from me and get infected. My younger son suffers from BOTH edges being a problem. There is nothing like the pain of an ingrown nail when you accidentally stub it. You see stars. In his case, I was changing insurance away from Kaiser because of the thyroid problem I have, that they could not handle, and this resulted in a new internist. The new internist resulted in my younger son being seen and a new foot specialist being found. This one, on seeing the condition of my son's feet, and hearing our horror story about the ordeal of Kaiser, put my son into a surgical facility, knocked him out, and killed the sides of both nails. The knockout was to keep him from having more pain. That and the pain-pills. Vicodin. I was really very careful about my own feet, having learned over the years to trim and file and lift and soak and fuss once a week. And rotate the shoes you wear. Easy Spirit being a godsend in this regard since they do not pinch. Well, enter Team in Training, and I decided to try for a walking marathon. I used to do 5 miles around the lake in San Diego. I used to walk everyday. I used to do 26 miles a week. I was now training for 26 miles in one day. The first session I made, since I was at the Romantic Times convention for the other two, they discussed feet and foot problems. I was walking. In the gym. At training, I did the track. I did not get out right away to get larger shoes and when I did, size 10 (I usually wear a 9), and tried walking on a trail, my outer legs hurt. This is not, as was assumed, shin splints. By the time I had size 10s, I had already jammed my feet in the front of my size 9 sneakers, which is what had prompted me to finally drag my chemo-tired son to the mall with me. Anything over 5 1/2 miles resulted in hurt feet. I can handle up to 5 miles, which is why I had thought that I could do this. I went and got refitted at a second store, and these were size 9 1/2 with motion control since I "pronate". New word. My feet turn in as in fallen arches. Now, as many of us aging baby-boomers (actually I am ahead of them by 2 years) have discovered, list under things your mother never told you, you feet continue to grow all through your life. Weight gain gives you wide feet. Pregnancies give you a 1/2 size increase (not reversible) per pregnancy. I had three (two successful) pregnancies and had already moved from size 7 1/2B to size 9C. I was also fat (hence the "C"). The width is reversible - if I manage to lose the weight. Again. I tried walking on the trail again (every Saturday actually) and I was the last one around the trail, breathing hard (asthma in cold air) and my legs screamed. So I stopped. I dropped out of the marathon. Well, my left foot was worse off then the right foot, and I was busy at work, and with my son's chemo, and I knew I needed to go to the doctor. But mothers are always last. Being laid off, I can now catch up on the doctor visits. Bone density testing. Mammogram. Blood test to check Estrogen levels. Foot doctor. Pending in the wings, eye exam, dentist and a specialist for my sore wrists, which are better now that I no longer type on a bloody PC! The Mac never bothered me before I was put on the PC. So I am not sure if they need surgery too. The foot doctor took a look, and decided I needed the outside edge of the large toe nail on my left foot killed. Sounds familiar? My younger son is still bitching (now years later) about his "small" toe nails, but he has never had another ingrown nail. OK doc. If you are doing one, do them both. Left and right. Because the other one is just waiting to act up. He can do it in the office. And I have brought all my sneakers - so I should be able to drive the Tacoma truck home in size 10s. After recovery, then we will see about a foot strap thingy that will prevent me from slipping forward in my sneakers, because I was jamming my feet at all sizes. This device may also correct the leg pain thing. Which means that next season, I can try a half-marathon. Now that I now enough to actually check the LENGTH of the walk before signing up! And training in warm weather will be better for the asthma. So in comes the tray. They test my feet for circulation. I am fine. Especially since I am 60 and fat. Let's call a spade a spade. They test me with feathers, sharp pins and a shot of cold spray. I use cold spray on my son every week to get the chest port accessed. I spray, the nurses access. (I have pulled the needle out once. Tough grip!) Now I know what the cold spray feels like. COLD! They x-ray my feet. They are fine. It's all toenail damage. He agrees, I have nail fungus, topicals do not work, and the pills are too tough on the liver for me to take. So just trim with a chain saw and paint them red. The doctor tells me first and then stabs me over and over all around the toe. My big toes become like numb teeth. Then - he cuts and prunes. I do not watch I peek. I am bleeding. He puts on a bandage - one per foot. I slip on size 10s and get Rx for Vicodin (where I have heard that drug name before???) and Keflex (ditto). Off I go. I will be back in 2 weeks. I will shower and soak and remove said bandages tomorrow. I will soak my feet in table salt. (Which --- I just ran out of! Murphy's Law!) I turn in the paperwork at Synopsys, in front of a witness, so now I will get my severance. (An attorney had reviewed the papers. Next time a guy shoves himself against me, I do not call HR, I call a lawyer. Learn.) Then I go get my drugs and go home. I check, and my left foot bandage is bright red. The foot that runs the clutch in the Tacoma. But no particular pain. My feet stay numb but I do too, staying prone and resting the rest of the day. I even yelled at my son to get his own ice and soda (which he did and is perfectly capable of). I did get up and make tapioca pudding for my supper, he had left-over pizza. And then a rice dish from Weight-Watchers. I stayed with the pudding, some dry-roasted peanuts and red, white and blue M&Ms. Tapioca helps settle my stomach. I will not comment on the medicinal value of the other items. By morning, however, I am in pain. 1/2 pills taken in the evening and at 3 AM are no longer doing it. A full court press is required - a full pill - and it's barely 7AM. I shove toast in my mouth - antibiotics and pain pills do not go over well with my stomach else. I retire to bed until 9AM. I am now crippled, hobbling around, and limp as a biscuit, so I make some for breakfast. My son had warned me, "Stay off your feet! Lay down! It will hurt!" Yep. He's right. |
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