I’m feeling every year of my age. My left heel has been hurting off and on for a few months. The pain wasn’t enough to warrant an extra trip to the doctor, but it was certainly worth mentioning at my recent visit.
I see my medical doctor every six months for a medical condition with which I’ve been dealing for the past decade that has no cure. (Don’t worry. I’m not sick. I simply have a condition that requires vigilance on my part.) My doctor and her staff take great care of me. They ask me probing questions with every visit and always make sure to poke and prod me.
My most recent doctor’s visit was last week. I told my nurse I was having trouble with my foot, and she instructed me to remove both of my shoes and socks. I complied and mildly regretted not painting my toes.
The doctor examined both of my little tootsies and explained I have plantar fasciitis. Then she looked at my shoes and advised me to replace them with a pair that has high arch support. (The ones I was wearing were cushioned, but offered zero support.)
Taking my doctor’s advice, I drove to my local shoe store where I found no shoes that offered the kind of arch support I need. I purchased a pair of inserts there instead of the shoes I was hoping to take home.
My new arch support insoles are so high that they only fit in one pair of my shoes. They were a gift from a loved one a few years ago, but I don’t wear them very often because they’re rather clunky. I can’t explain them any better than that. Clunky is the word.
I had two Zoom meetings that overlapped on Thursday evening. The first one began at 6:00 p.m., which about the time I get home from work every night. I hit the house running, grabbed my geriatric dog, Taco, and rushed him outside, down the deck steps, and to the backyard so he could relieve himself before I got busy online.
After gently depositing Taco on the grass, I turned and ran up the deck steps. One of my clunky shoes, secured to my feet with double knots, caught the lip of the top step and propelled me forward at a frightening velocity.
I hit the deck with my knee, and my momentum continued to carry me forward, sliding me across the boards. I caught myself mid-slide with my right hand, jarring my ever-sore shoulder. It wasn’t just a fall. I fell up the steps, dove to the deck, skidded, and then splatted.
With no time to give in to pain, I picked myself up off the deck and rushed inside to turn on my computer. While it was taking its sweet time booting up, I let Taco back inside and grabbed an Atkins shake from the refrigerator. (No time for dinner, either.)
I sat down at my desk and immediately knew that wasn’t going to work. My knee didn’t like that angle at all. So, I moved to the couch, stretched out my leg, and got settled just as my Zoom link connected. I sat through both of my meetings with my leg propped up on the couch like that. Thankfully, the camera has a limited range.
By the end of the second meeting, I was feeling pretty rough. I had hope, though. I knew if I could tough it through the night, I’d be seeing my massage therapist and chiropractor the next morning. I took a couple of Aleve and limped to bed.
Believe it or not, my knee was fine that next morning. My shoulder was not. It was letting me know I’m not a young woman and need to watch where I’m going. The rest of my back was yelling at me, too. I was a walking advertisement for pain reliever.
I explained what happened to my therapist and chiropractor. By the time they were finished with me, I was feeling much better. I even discovered they could help me with my plantar fasciitis.
The moral of my tiny tale is simple. Watch where you’re going and don’t run up the steps.
Stay safe and healthy, my friends!
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