Another Chapter of Reconstruction

I woke up in the recovery room with a definite feeling of "deja vu." I've been here before. I know that I've been here before. I was handed the control to a pain pump and instructed how to use it. I soon came to realize where I was and why I was there. I was in Texas Orthopedic Hospital in Houston. Although it was a slightly different hospital setting, the surroundings were familiar. Indeed, the familiar recall was on target. After having so many foot surgeries, I decided that this one hurt no more and definitely no less than any previous foot surgery. Aside from having a brutal headache, the pain pump was doing its job. Unfortunately, the more I pushed that button, the worse my headache became. I later came to believe that the headache was an unfortunate reaction to the pain medication.  Just my luck!


The doctor came in while I was still in a stupor and, from our short visit, I gleaned that the surgery had not been simple. He had found more problems than he expected and therefore had done much more repair work than expected. 


It wasn't until later, when I read the surgical report, that I realized the extent of the surgery. In all, there were about nine separate procedures which resulted in seven incisions. It still amazes me that there could be so many problems in such a small space. And yet, I know how acutely I felt the ever-increasing pain. There was clear evidence of why my foot hurt so badly as well as full realization that the longer I waited, the worse the foot had become. 


Without going into the whole surgical report, he did bone repair in several places. He removed bone spurs and repaired recurring bunions and straightened toes. He placed plates and pins into the foot to support the bone work he had done. But, if anything, the bone work was less important (to me anyway) than the work done within the incision at the bottom of my foot. This was the location of the "stump neuroma" which is from the neuroma that had already been repaired three times. Each time, the latest procedure was used, but the nerves "re-sprouted" and acted as live wires inside the bottom of my feet, often causing unbearable pain.

For those of you who are not familiar with the word "neuroma," it is basically a tumor that forms from nerve tissue. I'm not sure about neuroma formation in other parts of the body, but formation in the foot usually begins with something called "Morton's Neuroma." It is my understanding that the neuroma usually forms at the nerve center in the third web space. In other words, between the bones leading to the third and fourth toe. When the foot is squeezed in any way, the nerve compression painfully announces its presence. Unfortunately, that squeezing includes standing on it. As the neuroma expands and gets irritated, it is literally like standing on a toothache.


Under normal circumstances, the neuroma is removed and the nerve pain ceases. I had my first neuroma surgery more than 27 years ago. I went to the doctor after the pain and stinging became so bad, I actually thought there were red ants crawling and stinging my legs and feet. More than once, I pulled my car off to the side of the road to try to swat the red ants away.


At the time, the doctor chose to repair both feet at once. Since there was no internet at the time (yes people, there was life before internet!), I went to the library to research the options. The research revealed that this was mostly experienced by runners. But it could also be caused by wearing ill fitting shoes and high heels. Okay, none of those causes applied to me. I have no idea why my feet decided to sprout these awful tumors when I was in my 20s and 30s yet they were mine to deal with.  In any case, surgery was only called for in extreme cases and runners could be back running within six weeks. Once the surgery was inevitable, the recovery time was reasonable. I had no reason to expect that my feet would bot be "cured" within a few weeks. Wouldn't that have been great?


What followed were many years of pain. I didn't matter what kind of shoes I wore, my feet were at issue no matter where we went. A trip to the zoo or a Mardi Gras parade were impossibly painful.


So fast forward to the recovery room where I provided living proof that neuromas in the foot are not necessarily an easy cure. In the end, I felt that I had "given birth" in the bottom of my foot. Not only did he have to repair the original stump neuroma, but also he found a new one that had to be repaired.  Additionally, there were ganglion cysts and what he called "ganglion material" that was wrapping around the already strangled nerves. Did I mention the feeling of "standing on a toothache?"

Thus began the current healing process for my right foot. Once it is "well," I will have similar surgery on my left foot. Although I am not looking forward to another surgery and difficult recovery, I am eager to have both feet absent of all these painful appendages. I am ready to have normal feet. I am ready to go dancing again!

On a Mission!

After so many years of "walking on broken glass," it's difficult for me to envision life any other way.  But through the years, I've held on to this inner certainty that if we can put a man on the moon; if we can create a world in which everything is a click away; if we can take people from actual near death experiences back to life; then it should follow that a three-inch square area on someone's foot absolutely CANNOT control his or her life!


I've also held on to the reality that there is nothing fatal about having "bad feet." With so many people I know fighting cancer and other serious diseases, I can be grateful for the fact that I am basically a very healthy person, aside from chronic pain issues. Again, this can hurt me, but it will never kill me. 


Many years ago, I passed an examination room in the doctor's office where a patient sat with an entirely BLACK foot. The black area extended all the way to her knee. I was deeply moved by that sight and fiercely fought back tears. I sensed that this lady was about to hear that she would lose her leg. At that point, it seemed almost selfish of me, as the next person to see the same doctor, to whine that "my feet hurt." So many times, I've grappled with the feelings evoked by that vision. Years later, I still think of her. But in the end, I've had to remove myself from that lady's situation. Instead, I face the reality that I continue to have foot pain. Yet deep in my heart, I refuse to accept that nothing can be done to help me.


With all this in mind, I was STILL on a mission to find help for my feet! This three-inch square of my body is on it's way to the moon and I am on my way to walking on sunshine!


We made the 5-hour drive to Houston in May 2012, to see Dr. Grant Braly and have him take a fresh look at a patient he hasn't seen in 22 years. He would see a patient he's tried to repair at least four times - twice on each foot. And for a while, his repairs worked and I experienced relief. But eventually, the nerve endings regenerated and the awful nerve pain, stinging and burning would return. Was there any reason to expect that the same thing wouldn't happen again? What was I doing here? We would soon find out. Although he may have had a little trouble making a name and face connection; once he saw the plethora of scars on my feet, he knew exactly who I was. In all, there were eight old surgical scars on my right foot and at least six on my left foot. 


As usual, the visit began with x-rays which he studied closely. We talked about the progression of pain and how much it continues to interfere with my daily life. The entire time we talked, he "kneaded" my feet as though he had a handful of bread dough. From one end to the other; first the right and then the left foot. He pressed the bony protrusions and then watched me writhe in pain as he pressed on the nerve centers.


Finally, he began to explain all the things he believed were wrong with my feet at this point. More importantly, he told me that a procedure had been developed to "bury" the nerves into bone and muscle. Instead of regenerating as they had in the past, the nerves would grow into the bone and muscle. Once this happened, nerve pain, stinging and burning should cease. This was the most exciting news of the day. He explained that he had used this nerve burying procedure for several years and had had great success with it. Finally, the good news!


We discussed that since my feet are very small, there may be a problem finding enough bone and muscle mass to bury the many nerve problems he could feel. But he didn't expect that would be a problem which made me appreciate his broad knowledge, confidence and experience. He explained that an MRI would have shown all the bundles of nerve masses. But even without an MRI image of them, he could feel the neuromas that had to be addressed. Additionally, he found several bony areas that were causing friction and pain. There was a large bone spur that had developed under my fourth and fifth toe that helped to explain some of the "new" pain. He explained how each area would be repaired. He asked us to take our time and think about it. If I decided to have the surgery, we would approach one foot at a time. I had to be able to support the weight of my body with the other foot which endures its own set of problems.


Barry and I knew the routine, having been through it so many times before. At this point, planning for the surgery and extended recovery was the mission at hand. Eventually, we made the appointment for the first surgery and booked a hotel room a few blocks away.


Is pain a good reason to opt for surgery? Most of us are familiar with the common phrase "when your feet hurt, you hurt all over." For me, that takes on a very literal meaning. I've described it as "standing on a toothache." 


Many times along the way, I've had to question myself, realizing that in many aspects, this is "elective" surgery. As I mentioned, I am healthy and not in danger of losing life or limb. But I truly believe that "elective" and "optional" are not one in the same. This was not to improve my appearance or enhance certain areas of my body. This was to augment my quality of life; to enhance my pursuit of enjoyment.


Finally, on May 21, 2012, the time arrived. We checked into Texas Orthopedic Hospital early on Monday morning. I talked with Dr. Braly before surgery and asked a few questions about how he would approach the numerous problems affecting my foot. For example: if the nerves branch out like a tree, would he be trying to track down every painful branch, or would he be going after the trunk of the tree? He explained that he would cut the branches away from the trunk; and then bury the trunk into the bone and muscle. No matter what the surgery entailed, I was ready. 


Since Dr. Braly is an educator as well as a surgeon,I agreed to having students observe the surgery and have it videoed and used for classroom studies. Since my particular combination of foot problems is extremely rare, he expected that it would definitely be studied by many orthopedic foot surgeons.


In my quest to find help, I have always faced the same question. What kind of worth do we place on  'quality of life?' Is improved quality of life reason enough for surgery? In all cases, the answer was the same for me. My quality of life had been gravely compromised and I'm ready to change that. 


At the end of my life, will I wish I had chosen to dance that last dance without pain? Absolutely!

Facing the Facts

It's been 22 years since my last foot surgery and I have persistently sworn that I would never allow anyone to cut on my feet again. At some point however, I began to realize that progressively, my feet were getting worse. Not only had the pain become more intense, it was more widespread and deeper in the tissue. Although I've become accustomed to the fact that every facet of my life is affected in a profound way, I finally had to realize I had reached the time of "enough is enough."

Once I hit the wall and examined my feet closely, I knew that the time had come for me to do something. At least I had to seek consultation regarding what caused the increasingly unbearable pain. I had to question why my lifelong love of writing had come to writing a blog about how awful my feet are and lamenting all the things I know that I'm missing.

After seeing a local orthopedic foot specialist (which we didn't have here when I had prior surgeries), I walked away crying. Although he was thoroughly impressed with the prior surgical work he could see on my x-rays, he offered no help for the cause of increased pain. "I'm sorry you're having so much pain, but there's nothing I can do for you." That was the hard truth I came away with. But my husband heard more. He could not believe that a prominent doctor would level so much praise on the work of another surgeon. "I don't know who this surgeon is, but I can tell from your x-rays that the work he's done shows some some of the most intricate surgical techniques I've ever seen." 

I left his office with a feeling of hopelessness. I'd waited three months for an appointment with a doctor who basically turned me away as a patient. "Sorry, there's nothing I can do for you." My husband, on the other hand, was convinced that the doctor had given me the information I needed to move forward. If this doctor was so completely impressed with the surgical techniques he saw on the x-ray, then my husband was convinced that I had to return to Houston to see Dr. Braly. If Dr. Braly said that nothing more could be done, then we would accept it and move on with our lives. But if anything could be done, we both trusted that Dr. Braly was the man to do it.

But would Dr. Braly still be in practice? Very soon I found that indeed he was still practicing with the same group in the Texas Medical Center in Houston. The abundant awards and accolades he had amassed twenty-two years ago had multiplied exponentially. Indeed, he is also still teaching orthopedic surgeons at Baylor University. I immediately made an appointment with him. Knowing that this was not just "an appointment," I planned it at a time when I would be ready for whatever this doctor recommended.

If only I would had the ability, at this point I would have been Walking on Cloud Nine. The appointment was two months away, but I was ready. I was so ready!

You often hear that when one door closes, God opens another door for us to enter. Before I could dry my tears, the new door had opened for me and I was ready to walk through it.

 

Creature Comforts

When I signed on for Ad Sense, I knew that my blog would be "monitored" somewhat to determine good places to throw in ads that may get some response. With that in mind, I'm going to mention a few of the stores, websites and brands that have helped me survive day-to-day with these painful feet. 

ECCO: I suppose, first and foremost are my Ecco shoes. Ecco produced the first sandal that satisfied all my foot needs. Adjustable front, back and heels. They even had smooth soles I could walk on. For the first time in years, I not wearing tennis shoes all the time! I could wear my Ecco sandals with shorts, crop pants and skirts. Later, I even had the joy of a great pair of Ecco hiking boots. I literally wore the sole off of them. I've had Ecco tennis shoes and Ecco dress shoes. They were great. What can I say? My closet began to look pretty normal. Expensive? Yes. But so worth it!


ECCO athletic shoes are in a class all their own. At some point, I actually found great tennis shoes that I could wear - ECCOs. I must say that these are the shoes I wear most. Right now, I'm wearing my third or fourth pair and need new ones. But regardless of how great they are, the insole has to come out to make space for my Spencos. Read more to learn about my pain saving Spencos.

Fit-Flops: My latest love is for something called "FitFlops." Not to be confused with "flipflops." I can't wear anything between my toes. Absolutely nothing between the toes. Ever. But my FitFlops are suede clogs and, for me, they're about as  comfortable as shoes can get - for ME.


MBTs: These are uniquely designed shoes and I've had mixed results with them. The name "MBT" is for some kind of Indian Barefoot Technology. They come with a video that explains the design process and how they came to be. The soles are to designed to feel like walking on sand. The soles "roll" back and forth so that there is no weight on a particular part of your foot (for me, nerve centers) for long. I've had great luck with the sandals. The rolling action seems to take the pressure off the "nerve" spots in my feet.

Spenco Orthotics: Through the years, I've been through orthotics of every kind. Custom made, doctor built, memory foam - you name it. But I always return to my favorites, Spenco Cross Trainers. My favorite green cushy Spencos rule. I don't know what I would do with out them!  Many years ago, a young manager in a Footlocker asked me to try one shoe with the Spenco and one without. "Walk around the store. See which one feels the best."  Wow, I've thanked that girl ever since. I order my Spencos online or get them at the Academy. They're not expensive but I wear them all the time. I even use my older Spencos in my pool shoes for water aerobics. They're great. Spenco cushions make life easier! 


The Walking Store: I find it very difficult to buy shoes in stores.  The Walking Store is one of my favorite places to buy them online! In stores, if I try them on early in the morning, my feet don't hurt quite as much and there's no swelling. So I can easily be fooled into thinking I can wear shoes that I absolutely cannot wear. If I go late in the day or at night, my feet usually hurt so much, there is no shoe in the WORLD that looks good to me. At that time, the thought of buying shoes is unbearable. And watching girls try on 8-inch heels makes me want to puke! But sometimes I find a style and color I like, then I go home (in the comfort of my recliner) and look for them online. Once I "Google" the kind of shoes I'm looking for, I will likely find websites for the shoes I want. As I mentioned, The Walking Store is one of my favorites - online or in-store.

Foot Smart: I like Foot Smart because I get great catalogs. They deal with all the reasons people have foot problems and offer shoes or comfort items to help each problem. They have brands of shoes I like, as well as creature comforts for the foot problems I have. Foot Smart was developed for people like me. They cater to foot problems and carry shoes and other footwear that are helpful for people with foot problems. 

Returns and Exchanges: I mentioned that much of my footwear is purchased online. These companies are very good about returns and exchanges. I can usually find some pretty good bargains and REALLY shop without walking the malls. I can see all the styles and colors they have available, along with the price of each. Even the Spenco orthotics are easy to find and come with a nice guarantee.  I usually buy a couple of them at once because I wear them in most of my shoes. I even save my older ones to wear in my pool shoes. What? No water aerobics without good support on my feet!

Dr. Scholls: Lastly, you have to know that Dr. Scholls is, of course, a close friend. I get toe separators, callous cushions; you name it. When I know I'll be walking or on my feet a great deal, I pad them in all the spots that need protection. And it helps.


Just a Reminder: That even with all these great amenities, it still "feels like I'm walking on broken glass!"

Putting Things Into Perspective

Please note: Although this story is based on an actual event and from my perspective the feelings are genuine in every respect, it was also written with respect for the patient's HIPPA rights; his privacy as a patient. I have changed names and details out of respect for the young man in the story. However, my respect and admiration for him remains the same.
  
Before I gave up my Pastoral Care Commission at a local hospital, I had a memorable experience with a young patient. The events that transpired on that day are etched into my memory and have have helped to put my life, my pain and the purpose of hospital ministry into perspective.


On that particular day, my assignment was long and tedious. Several patients either needed a sounding board or somehow established a connection with me or my family and extended conversations ensued. By the time I got to the end of my list, I'd had it. My feet had gone the distance. I felt as though I was in the final stretch of a full marathon. But I had one more name on my list. Someone named Blake with a room on the neurosurgery floor. But due to the intense pain I'd been literally walking on, I was finished! I started toward the elevators. Blake would have to wait until another day to receive communion. My feet couldn't take another visit. 


On my way to the elevator, I looked down at the name again and said a prayer for the patient named Blake. I asked that he or she could forgive me for stopping before my assignment was complete. But when I looked at the name, I saw a person's face. I suddenly thought to myself, why should Blake have to miss receiving the Body and Blood of Christ today, just because MY feet hurt? Suddenly, stopping before visiting my last patient didn't make sense to me. Somehow, I had to make it to Blake's room.


I made my way into an empty alcove and leaned my whole body against the wall. I took off my shoes one at a time and stretched my feet. I alternated lifting and rotating my feet, trying to relieve the intense pain I was feeling. I went into the restroom and sat on the toilet for a few minutes just to take the weight off my feet. I scrubbed my hands and looked in the mirror. I could see pain etched deeply into my face. I splashed water and prayed again. God, I need your help to make it to see Blake. As I walked toward Blake's room, I had to laugh because, of course, his room was the very last one at the end of a long hall. Okay God, now you're really testing my faith. But I know you can get me through this.


When I walked into Blake's room, I was astounded at the vision that greeted me. The room was large and the young man in the hospital bed had his head completely wrapped in bandages. Even with the bandages, I could see that he was a handsome young man. And he was smiling from ear to ear as he thanked me for being there. He thanked me for bringing the Eucharist to him and said it was an important part of his day.


At his bedside, three state troopers stood in full uniform. They were standing side by side in what seemed at the time like a military honor guard, yet they stood there reverently - as if guarding a fellow trooper. Their flat-rimmed trooper hats were identically held with crossed hands behind their backs as they stood in what seemed to be an "at ease" position. 


I was introduced to the police officers in the room who cheerfully declared that they were all on a mission to make sure young Blake would someday be able to return to full duty with them. It was indeed a touching sight. Their eyes were smiling but I definitely detected an emotional presence in each of them.

The young man's dad sat at the edge of his bed with more pain on his face than I could have ever known. On the wall to my right was a large portrait of the young man as he looked in his state police uniform. What a handsome and proud young man in that portrait! I later learned that it was Blake's graduation picture from the State Police Academy, which was just weeks before his accident. I was told that Blake was in his early twenties and had been in a vehicle accident in bad weather on an interstate highway.


My "reasons" for making the walk down that long hall continued to multiply. The young man and his family were from the same small town as my parent's families. So there was an immediate connection. In fact, we discovered that Blake's grandmother and my own godmother had been very close friends for many years. Blake's dad kept thanking me for my visit and the prayers I offered on Blake's and his family's behalf. We spoke in the very limited amount of Cajun French I could muster and the dad began to relax a little. He wanted to talk about Blake; about what a wonderful and compliant son he was and that his life's dream was to be a state trooper. The son was on his way to pick up his parents for an anniversary dinner when the accident occurred.


As they told me Blake's story, I fiercely fought tears. I could also see by looking at the head bandages that a portion of Blake's skull appeared badly damaged. A tree trunk had pushed through his cranium and had crushed bones in his head. I wondered about the extent of his body-wide injuries. I wondered if Blake would ever be able to fulfill his life's dream of being a state policeman. The more I wondered, the harder I prayed and the more I fought tears. There were many months, perhaps years of recovery in Blake's future and in his family's future as well. 


In return for my prayers, I was somehow given the assurance that Blake's faith and the strong family faith that hovered in the room would sustain them through these difficult years. This faith was responsible for the fact that Blake was alive and alert and receptive to prayers and the Holy Eucharist.


There was almost a spring in my step and I retraced the hall, returned to the chapel and made my way through the parking lot. Of COURSE my feet still hurt, but I knew without a doubt that my pain was not even measurable on the same scale with Blake's.  


God bless Blake and his family!

Ministering in Pastoral Care

Since my foot problems have intensified, one of the volunteer duties I've had to give up is the hospital ministry I did for several years. For this ministry, I was on rotation to take the Holy Eucharist to hospital patients. I would pick up my assignment sheet at the Pastoral Care office, proceed to the chapel to pray for my patients and then get the blessed Eucharist. I set out on my rounds, visiting the rooms on my assignment. It was a deeply rewarding ministry. Every time I was there, I experienced a particular patient, family member or incident that made me realize that there was a definite purpose for my being there on that particular day. 


After introducing myself, I offered Catholic patients an opportunity to receive holy communion. Many had asked to be put on the communion list so, more often than not, patients accepted and appreciated the opportunity. Regardless of whether or not they received communion, I prayed with the family and offered prayers of healing for the patient. I ended with the prayers for distribution of the Eucharist. I was always touched by how grateful the people were; not only the patients but their family members, friends, and even their sitters. 


Many times, when I determined that the elderly spouse or the parent of a small child rarely got to leave their patient's room, I would offer to confer the Eucharist to the family member as well. Patients often wanted nothing more than to have someone to talk with. This was especially true if they had come to our hospital from another city or country and felt as if their pastoral support and family had been left behind.


Of course, the foot problems were always amplified on the days I had Pastoral Care duties. Although I wore my most comfortable shoes, I tried to maintain the dress code that had been established for us. (So I definitely wasn't in sweat pants and old sneakers!) The ministry called for several consecutive hours of walking the long hospital halls and standing on my feet for extended periods of time; a combination that was certain to bring unbearable pain. Regardless of the day, the time or the footwear, it was always a very painful job for me. But the rewards certainly outweighed the pain.


I always believed that this was such a small sacrifice for me, despite the pain. I have foot pain; bad foot pain. So what? It's not a condition I will die from; nor is it one that involves major working organs that keep my body functioning. I prayed as I went though my assignment. God, please give me the fortitude, courage and pain resistance I need to get me through this day. I was so humbled by the experience and so fortunate to be able to perform this important spiritual mission that my pain was often pushed to the back of my mind.


During every visit, I somehow received a spiritual message regarding the "reason" I was there and how important this ministry is. Occasionally, I had the extreme privilege of giving communion to ordained religious individuals. In many cases, these members of the clergy were battling life-threatening diseases. Sometimes they had reached "end of life" situations. It was always very humbling to confer communion to these priests, religious brothers or nuns, especially knowing that in some cases, it could possibly be one of the last times they would receive the sacraments after giving their lives to Jesus Christ.


But eventually, I had to give up hospital ministry because of my feet. And I truly miss it.  Of all the things I've had to give up, I would say this was the hardest. I enjoyed the ministry and the time I spent with patients. I am thoroughly convinced that it is a vital mission and one I hope to resume at some point. I believe that there was a "calling" attached to this privilege and if I can ever get my foot pain back to a tolerable level, I will definitely try to answer that calling again.


My next blog will impart a particular patient experience (one of many) and how strongly I was affected by my Pastoral Care Ministry experiences. Until I return, I continue to pray for the Pastoral Care ministers in all hospitals, and especially Our Lady of the Lake where I ministered. 

Refusing to Give In

It has taken me a long time to reach this point, but I've decided to return to Houston to see the orthopedic surgeon who performed my last and most successful foot surgeries. Although I'm not expecting that he can perform miracles, I hope he can find some way to help my most recent, recurring and very painful foot problems.


We will soon make the 300+ mile trip to the Texas Medical Center and my feet will become reacquainted with Dr. Braly, a man I had come to know well over the years that he performed surgeries on both feet and ankles from about 1989 to 1994. It's been almost 18 years since I saw him for the follow-up after my most recent foot surgery in June 1994. It will be interesting to see what he thinks about the current "state of affairs" with my aching feet.


When I saw the new doctor here in Baton Rouge a few months ago, I walked away with the opinion that he sees no easy solution to my current problems. He believes that, short of doing major surgery to fuse bones, there is nothing he can do to help the latest pains. Fusing the bones could possibly cause me to lose motion in that area and, in the end, may not help the pain. Not great odds; even for pains that keep my feet adorned with at least a dozen kinds of bandages. I won't even consider major surgery or fusing bones.

But the most obvious opinion I heard from him was how prolific he believed my foot surgeon had been. He pointed out on my x-rays how well the bones had healed and how well the precise "surgical sites" looked. He seemed amazed at the appearance of the x-rays in the places where the surgeon had performed his craft. It was encouraging to hear this surgeon praise the work of my previous surgeon so extensively. He explained how sorry he was that the nerve damage remained from the neuroma excisions, but made it clear that the structural formation looked great. The pain, it seems, is due to the manner in which my weight distributes when I walk. I naturally step away from the painful areas. As I said before, "the surgery was a success but the patient died."


Obviously, after I saw the new doctor, the problems continued and the array of bandages became more varied. I still get painful callouses and then blisters form around the callouses. The spot where the right bunion once was, has become a painful point of contention. When pain hits the spot where the pin was placed, it is excruciating! And it only takes something as simple as a pair of flats or a closed toe shoe that hits the bunion spot in just the wrong way. The pain is immediate and unbearable.


My research 20 years ago led me to Dr. Braly and, at the time, I determined that he was the best. I accepted that my pain continued simply because it was meant to be. I never believed it was his fault or the fault of anything he had done or not done. At the time, he told me that the particular combination of problems I had was perhaps one of a kind in the world. In fact, his research has shown that I was one of only four with one set of problems, one of two with another. That's me . . . one of a kind. 


Since I definitely don't want big surgery, what am I hoping for? Well, I'll have to have the expert look at it but I believe if he can snip a tendon or connecting tissue that's making the big tow lean and ultimately making the painful bunion spot stick up, maybe that would help. Strap me into a boot and let it heal. Now, that's my simple solution, but let's see what my doctor has to say. If HE has no solution, then I will continue with the bandages and toe separators.


This is definitely NOT the way I want to be listed in the World Book of Records. But it is what it is. I pray that Dr. Braly will take a look and know exactly what to do to make it better. I hope he can take some of the broken glass away! 


After all these years, I still refuse to believe that with all the technology that has come along in the world, someone like me can be forced to accept the fact that a four-square-inch segment of my body can control my life and cause so much pain. I once told my doctor "they only hurt when I stand on them or walk on them." But isn't that what feet are for?

As the glass shatters . . .

I fully realize how long I've neglected my blog. When I set it up, it was an honest attempt to regularly share thoughts of how I continue to live my life despite the fact that I literally "walk on on broken glass" through every aspect of my life. My neglect certainly doesn't have anything to do with the fact that I haven't had anything to write about. In fact, everything I do is affected by my foot pain in some way. We've been very busy and on the go, with every step carefully planned around how I balance what I do with the extreme pain that I experience. But life goes on and so do I.


So, despite the fact that I never expect my life to slow down, I will try to get back to my blog and let you know how I manage to carry on. For example, in packing for our cruise, I'm positive that I had about a hundred different kinds of band aids. And, trust me, I used every single kind. It's a simple fact of my life. I will try to continue to share my life with foot pain, along with the enhanced body-wide pain, while being as pleasant as possible. In the meantime, I will continue to work on my bucket list. Working through the pain. That's my new normal!

No Short Circuits for This Gal!

There's a fun event going on tonight and I can't wait to see a lot of old friends. It's a party for folks who lived in our part of town when we were all in high school and it's always well attended. It never disappoints and gets more and more fun each year. But there will be standing; lots of standing! No dancing; but standing around and reliving the "good old days." Standing around is very hard and painful for me. I could probably find a place to sit the whole time, but that's just not me. I have to mingle! I'll be "working the room" like a politician, making sure I find and hug every single person I know. And a few people I won't know until tonight. 


But if I want to enjoy myself I have to play by the "foot rules" that I've developed through the years. I have to try to "baby" my feet all day and get them ready for more standing and movement than they can normally handle. If I've had a bad foot day, then going to any event is out. I'd have to skip it all together. So I have to make sure that I have a good foot day today!


Before I begin to get ready, I'll ice my feet for at least an hour or two; propping them as high as I can to get the blood flowing away from them. I'll soak them in cool water after my bath because hot water wakes up all the nerves and really intensifies the pain. Heat expands. Cold contracts. I always have to keep those two rules of physics in mind when dealing with my feet.  The damaged nerves are like live wires and my job is to keep them from short-circuiting! 


The band-aids come next; careful not to cover my gorgeous red toenail polish. I'm a person one would refer to as a vain pain gal.  I deal with pain the best I can, but let it be known that I'm always concerned with how I look while doing it. While I don't wear high heels or any shoe I'd consider painful, I am very particular about what goes with what. The clothing I choose is dependent on what kind of shoes I can wear as much as on where I'm going. For tonight, I have a pair of well-worn MBT sandals that help to keep the weight off the balls of my feet. Not the best solution but as good as it gets. The soles are not nearly soft enough for me, but I can get by with them for a while. I'll alternate "working the room" with sitting and resting. If I can find a way to make an ice pack, there will be one under my feet as often as I can get it there.


The bandaging process is a tedious but important one. I bandage every toe usually susceptible to blistering or callouses; but not too tight in case my feet swell. Any place that the shoe might rub and make me uncomfortable will get attention. A grain of sand under my foot feels like a rock, so I have to make sure the insides of the sandals are smooth.  Obviously, my feet have to be wiped clean as well. After I go through the mental check list and the shoes are on, I check to make sure I have all the obvious problem spots taken care of. I stop long enough to say a prayer and ask God to help get me through whatever event I'm headed for.


At the party, I'll try not to get cornered in long conversations once my feet start hurting, which will probably be about ten minutes into the party. I'll make an excuse, find a chair and rest for a while. If I do get stuck in a conversation I can't get away from, or one I can't move to a place where I can sit, time to leave the party will come much quicker. I hate it when that happens, but it happens and I have to deal with it. I never have to remind my husband that if I give him "the look" that says "we have to leave NOW." He knows that it means NOW.

So I must get on with the job of babying my feet for the rest of the day; preparing for the big event. Maybe I'll see you there? If not, I'll let you know how the vain pain gal makes it through the party!  

The Surgery was a Success but the Patient Died!

I saw a new foot doctor last week; an orthopedist who specializes in problems from the knee down. This was my first "foot visit" since 1994, after the last of many foot surgeries. I don't know what I expected to accomplish with this exam, but I wanted someone to take a fresh look and tell me if anything can be done. The best hope is that it could be done without surgery. I need help with the awful foot pain and wanted to see if he had any helpful advice. I wanted to have them examined by someone familiar with the technology that has emerged since my last foot surgeries.


I really liked the new doc. As I waited in the exam room, I was happy to see that it was filled pictures, posters and memorabilia of LSU sports. I knew right away that I had a bond with this young doctor through knowledge of unusual foot problems, along with an enthusiastic love of LSU sports. When he came in, I introduced him to the what would probably be the best looking pair of "feet from hell" he will ever have an opportunity to examine. 


He was impressed with the brilliant array of Band-Aids covering my toes. In all, there were probably six or eight bandage strips. I'd purposely left the bandages on my feet; mostly because I needed them to pad the blisters, callouses and pain spots beneath them. But I also wanted to show him how I survive day-to-day foot pain. I pad the places that hurt most and try to move on with my day. I uncovered all the spots as we reviewed the long list of prior surgeries. We talked about the unusual aspects of my surgical history which covered about a 10-year period from 1985 to 1994. We discussed the reasons that the last five or six surgeries were performed in The Texas Medical Center in Houston. 


At the time, the foot pain kept getting worse instead of better. Since there was no orthopedic "foot" specialist here in Baton Rouge at that time, I wanted to ensure that I had no more "botched" surgeries and that I had the best possible care I could find. He apparently agreed that I'd found good help. He referred to the x-rays and showed me that, from an orthopedic standpoint, my feet had healed perfectly. He was impressed that, on the x-rays, he could barely see where the surgeries had been performed. The x-rays showed little evidence to match the numerous surgical scars on both feet. 


On the screen at least, they looked perfect. All the bones were straight and showed visible evidence that the surgeon had done a great job and my feet had healed as they were supposed to. Indeed, on the screen, they looked like normal feet. He said most of his foot patients could only wish for x-rays that looked quite so normal. Deceiving to say the least!


He looked at the freshly unbandaged spots as I explained where the most of the foot pain surfaces. We discussed the long history of recurring neuromas and how the nerve damage that ensued is not reversible. 


His opinion was much the same as my own, that pain from the nerve damage is here to stay and I should continue to deal with is as I have been. The blisters and callouses, he explained, are simply the result of the way I walk on my feet. It's the way my weight is distributed when I walk. It seems that because of the nerve damage, I unconsciously try to compensate by shifting weight away from the nerve center. Unfortunately, that puts added stress on other parts of my feet. The results come in the form of blisters between my toes, along with scattered and predictable callouses over the longer term.


I do have to admit that I gave doc a bit of a pause when I explained that, through the years, I've found that no amount of pain medication will help the nerve pain in my feet. On the other hand, I've found that alcohol does help. "Hey, a Margarita or two and I may be ready to dance."  There was a definite pause and a nearly audible gasp. I quickly followed with, "But lucky for me, I don't like alcohol. And I've witnessed far too much alcohol abuse to MAKE myself drink something I really don't like. Maybe an occasional glass of wine or a Margarita but basically, I don't routinely consume alcohol."  I definitely saw a moment of relief cover his face as he breathed a sigh of relief.  I don't use alcohol as a means of relieving foot pain. Whew! 

So. That's it. It's "the way I walk on my feet!" Not much I can do or say about that. But he recommended more "creature comforts" which will require frequent visits to my old friend "Dr. Scholls" on store shelves. He recommended toe separators, toe covers and some expensive memory-foam insoles. Wow, if I had a dollar for every pair of expensive insoles that have made the pain disappear!  Hmm. By now, I'd probably have . . . a dollar? No wait. I haven't found them yet. And, by the way, the new creature comforts haven't added any more relief than I'd found prior to this visit.


I think my pain management doctor put it best when she said it was an obvious case of what doctor's refer to as "the surgery was a success but the patient died." My foot surgery, from the view on an x-ray, was completely successful. But my feet still hurt like hell!


So the bottom line is that I have a new foot doctor and he has determined that there's still not much that can be done to help my foot pain. Any additional surgery would be intense and probably counter-productive. So I continue to cover most of my toes with bandage tape. I pad the callouses to help ease the pain. I still can't wear shoes that put pressure on the spot where there used to be a bunion. I still can't wear shoes that put weight on the balls of my feet due to the irreversible nerve damage. My toes still rub together and create painful blisters! In short, life goes on. 


Maybe it's just me but it's still hard to comprehend how, in this day in time, I'm still forced to allow a three-to-four square inch area on each foot to control my life. But it happens. My life of "walking on broken glass" continues.

Time Out

We've been on vacation so I haven't been faithful to my blog spot. More importantly, my computer has been out. Like dead. Gone. Totally unresponsive! Ahhhhh yes! Dealing with "technicians" from far across the world has not been entertaining. In fact, it's tested my patience to the limit. What's worse, it certainly wasn't getting my computer fixed. 

So I couldn't keep up with ANYTHING while we were gone. My work, my family, my friends, Facebook and blog page - I was totally out of touch. Once I got home, I still had to face the matter of a broken computer. So, now armed with a new hard drive and even a new keyboard, I am ready to get back writing because there is lots to talk about! 

When I finally do get back to my blog page, you'll get to hear about a week of walking a huge golf course in Kentucky and going dancing in Nashville. You guessed it - on broken glass all the way. Also, I have a new foot doctor who agrees, "why yes, you've got awful pain with THOSE feet!" 

But we had a wonderful vacation and I can't wait to get back to my blog. So much to tell; so little time.

How am I doing . . . so far?

I have such mixed emotions about my age. In most ways, I absolutely love it! It's great to stand back and see that we've done a tremendous job with our daughters. I'm delighted that both of our girls have been successful in previously male-dominated professions. It makes me even happier to look into the beaming faces of my grandchildren and see so much of their mothers. The influence of their fathers is also there, to be sure - but I'm speaking here as a parent and grandparent. I can finally stand back, take a deep breath and say "yes, thank you God, my life has been happy and successful."  My grandchildren reach out to me and I hear a constant stream of "I love you GiGi" and my heart wants to jump right out of my body!

But with advancing age comes problems I'd much rather ignore. Mostly, I pay for the activities of my youth; with pain! It gives new meaning to the adage, "If I'd known I was going to live this long I would have taken much better care of myself." Multiply that times ten for me!

And in keeping with my "broken glass" theme, I've finally made an appointment with a new orthopedic doctor. I just want him to take a fresh look at my "healed" feet and tell me if there's anything he can do to increase my mobility without pain. Any small improvement would be great!

My feet limit my abilities somewhat, but so far, I think I'm doing just fine!

Shattered Glass

When I first decided to write this blog, it was supposed to be a humorous account of my ongoing foot pain. I'd written several chapters of what I hope will someday be a book and I thought this would be a great place to get those thoughts written and read on a regular basis. But the truth is, through the years, my "broken glass" has grown to affect so much more than my feet. For starters, I don't usually feel physically well enough to write anything very clever or funny. The other thing is that since I have so much body-wide pain it's not always possible to sit here and write anything worthy of being enjoyably read by others.
So I have reached into the depths of my pain-filled body and made a decision to write more often and write shorter accounts of my day and whatever comes with it. My blogs won't necessarily be linked to these awful feet, but trust me when I tell you the foot pain is always here! My future blogs will reflect more of what my days are like. The good, the bad and the ugly. Honestly, these days when the rest of my body hurts so badly, I tend to forget about my foot pain. As much as I wanted the foot pain to stop controlling my life, this is definitely NOT the way I wanted it to happen.
Now. About that body-wide pain. What's that all about? Physically, I'm a well person. I lead a very active and happy life. I do lots of volunteer work, though not nearly as much as I would if I had less pain or feet that moved faster and without pain. No illness. No disease. I don't have anything that I will die from; although I sometimes feel like the pain will certainly kill me! That's a joke, of course, but sometimes one has to wonder, how much longer can I take this?
I went to a new pain management doctor recently and she asked me to describe where the pain is worse. I laughed, holding up a few strands of hair while telling her her it starts right at the tip end of my hair shaft and ends at the very tip of my longest toe. And everywhere in between. I laughingly refer to my husband as "batman" because I swear that during the night he grips a baseball bat and beats the crap out of me. That's how I feel most mornings when I wake up - including today. Either that or like a bus ran over me.  A BIG bus! But the batman joke is absurd because, if it were not for my lovingly helpful and understanding husband, I don't know how I would deal with all of this pain. In spite of the fact that he has his own pain demons to wrangle (at 17, we were in the same car wreck so the theory is that's where all the long term damage comes from), he's always here for me. He takes excellent care of me! He "gets" me. That's so helpful.
The results of my MRIs confirmed what I'd been telling my new doctor - and worse. She just sat there, shaking her head and asked, "How do you even function day-to-day, much less come bouncing in here, always looking so pretty and vibrant?"  Basically, my MRIs showed damage from the top of my cervical spine, through the thoracic spine, lumbar and all the way to my tailbone. Although I have damaged discs in every part of my spine, it's the arthritis that has progressed through the years to close the opening of the spinal column, therefore causing all this intense pain. The doctor reminded me that she treats pain patients all day every day. She said that most of her patients come in looking like hell. Yet, she explained that her treatment decisions are made based on what she sees in the framework - in the MRIs - and mine are one huge mess. She has several plans for making me feel better but it will take time. Also, she's concerned that there is a lot of permanent nerve damage - irreversible and hard to treat in those areas. But she will do all that she can to help ease my pain with all the might that modern pain management science can deliver. The eventual hope is that she can "kill off" the nerve endings that cause most of the foot pain.  But she says that for now, she has much more severe spinal damage to tend to. So, regardless of how much she can accomplish, I know I have a lot to look forward to.
In the meantime, I continue to get all dressed up, get my hair and makeup just right and "bounce around" as my body allows. I accept the things I cannot change, change the things I can and I for pray wisdom to know the difference. Please trust me when I tell you that my serenity prayer has nothing at all to do with alcohol but everything to do with the pain that I've somehow ended up with.
So I must move on to soak in a whirlpool and do whatever else I can to make today easier. But despite the pain, I love my life. I've been so blessed with good things that I consider my pain a small price to pay for all the goodness I have in my life.
So I'll leave you with one parting word. OUCH!

A great shopping day?

Now there's an oxymoron if I've ever heard one! A "good foot day" is unusual; that's certain. But a good foot day shopping? Unheard of. But it's exciting news - even for a foot blog! Yesterday I had the best foot day I've had in a very long time. And I have no idea why. You know, having absense of pain shouldn't be a noticeable event. Unless, of course, you've become so used to the pain that being without it is an exceptional and unusual moment! I felt as though there should be a huge, flashing neon sign glaring from my shoes making a declaration of "freedom."  The pain-free block of time was indeed welcome but unexpexted and almost confusing. Since I have no idea what brought on the good day, how could I ensure a repeat performance?
All I know is that I went Christmas shopping for a few hours. On my normal foot pain clock, that's equal to about a week - barefooted and trodding directly on my avenue of broken glass! But it wasn't until I was loading packages into the back of my SUV that it finally occurred to me. What's wrong with this picture? Where is the pain? Why aren't my feet hurting? I sat in my car contemplating my good fortune, all the while trying to figure out "why?" But why should "why" matter? I urged myself to simply enjoy it. I had more shopping to do but I clearly didn't expect to do it on this particular day.
But I headed for my next shopping venue almost as if I were used to store-hopping at will. Granted, I parked very near the entrance of each store. I went in and took care of business and was quickly on my way again. I wasn't about to take my pain-free moments for granted and wanted to get in all the shopping I could before the inevitable returned. Each time I reached my car, I smiled, reaffirming the fact that I was actually out Christmas shopping without foot pain. What a beautiful day! 
I don't understand what caused it, but I'm here to tell you that I thoroughly, albeit somewhat apprehensively, enjoyed it. There for just a few hours, I stole a glimpse of what my life should be like. I didn't push the envelope by going for a nice walk or even cranking up the music and dancing in my living room - although I honestly felt like it!  But I didn't want to irritate the nerves and perhaps bring on a new wave of pain that may be worse than a normal day. So I simply enjoyed it.
A shopping day free of foot pain! What a gift!

My Feet Are Thankful!!

It's Thanksgiving Day and I'm sitting here watching the annual Thanksgiving Day Parade, thinking about the numerous reasons I have to be thankful. Since I consider my life to be rich and fulfilled, I know there would never be enough space to list all the things for which I'm thankful. I'll begin by saying how thankful I am for my deep-seeded faith in God, my awesome Catholic faith and the Blessed Sacrament. I'm so fortunate to be able to share that faith with an unbelievable faith family in my church parish and the incredible prayer partners who are my best friends in weekly adoration of the Blessed Sacrament. Beyond that, I simply say that I have the greatest husband in the world, a phenomenal family that includes five fabulous grandsons, the greatest friends imaginable, wonderful neighbors, and a little puppy named Cody who gives me unconditional love and an occasional prize on the rug. Suffice it to say, it doesn't have to be Thanksgiving Day for me to know that I live a life of thanksgiving.
But with all this personal thankfulness, I realize that the theme of my blog encompasses the unwelcome challenges I face with my messed up feet every day. With this in mind, I realize that once again, I have so much to be thankful for. But think PAIN as you go through my list.

• I'm very thankful that I wasn't born to be a soldier in either the Korean army or the Chinese military. Just watching those guys do their fast-paced, precise, stiff legged, high kick, World War I, communist-looking march, makes my feet ache all the way to the roots of my teeth. Ouch!
• In fact, I'm thankful that I don't have to be military of any kind. Combat boots would not be my friends. I hear about soldiers who "run" through rough terrain carrying a 50-pound backpack and it's more than I can imagine.
• I'm thankful that I was never chosen to be a shoe model. I can't even look at the 8-inch platform heels without wincing in pain.
• I'm thankful that I never had the physical shape, the height, the talent or the desire to become a Radio City Rockette performer. Although I think they're the greatest, just seeing them, all in unison, dance and kick in those high heeled shoes is very difficult to watch. 
• I'm very thankful that I don't have a job standing on my feet all day. Imagine if I were a British soldier assigned to guard the Royal Palace and I would have to stand there motionless for hours until the changing of the guard. Yeah. That would undoubtedly mean more military boots and unbearable pain.
• I'm thankful that, although I've had a family of marathon runners, I don't have to join the Kenyan marathon team members who spend a lifetime running through rugged African terrain just to prove that they're the fastest in the world - and to get a medal.
• Most of all, I'm thankful that I can afford the not-so-fashionable comfort shoes, athletic shoes and orthotics that make my active life possible! I'm also thankful for my family and friends who are understanding of the fact that if I say I can't do it, I mean I can't do it! 
• Okay, okay! I'm very thankful to have both feet no matter how much nerve pain shoots through them every day! I'm thankful for an otherwise healthy body. And I'm ever so thankful that I can see the world from the back of our Harley without having foot pain.

Yes, I am very thankful to be me!

Dancing The Night Away

My parents were wonderful ballroom dancers and they really enjoyed dancing the night away. They belonged to dance clubs and were always on the "favorite invitees" lists of their friends. They practiced their craft often and well. So it was understandable that as soon as my brother and I were old enough, we were enrolled in local ballroom dancing classes. They were held in six-week sessions at the American Legion hall and we were enrolled in session after session, eventually moving up to the advanced classes. We learned the waltz, the fox-trot, the swing or jitterbug, cha-cha, rumba, samba, tango and other ballroom dances. At the end of each session, there was a "dance party" when the kids would dress up in party dresses and sports coats to show off the newly acquired skills to parents and friends. Oh how I wish I had videos of those dress-up parties!

The boys were expected to walk over and politely bow to the girls and graciously ask, "may I please have this dance?" I can't imagine how many lawsuits would be attached to making such a demand of kids these days. But the chivalrous boys asked and we danced for the duration of the party. As part of the celebration, there was usually a dance contest. As I recall, it was usually a waltz or fox-trot, but there could have been other contests as well. All I know is that my brother and I won several blue ribbons for placing first in our dance class. We were "cute" dancing together. We looked alike and were often mistaken for twins although my brother was two years older. I was very small for my age, so it seemed that the ability to follow my brother had come to a very small child.

Of course, our parents were extremely proud, certain that the "family dancing gene" had been appropriately handed down.

But I loved it. I enjoyed dancing and I enjoyed the fact that the boys' parents urged them to ask me to dance because I danced well and could follow any of them. The dancing skills stayed with us and my brother and I both continued to love dancing into our teens and beyond. But very soon, my brother gave up any notion of dancing with his sister. Dance with your his sister? How embarrassing! To this day he'd probably deny that it ever happened.

Fast forward to my teen years and the time when I was dating.  My mom and dad were still going dancing just about every weekend - as they did regularly until they they were physically unable to do so. In fact, they went dancing until after my dad started cancer treatments in his late 70s. And might I add that my mom danced in high heeled shoes until shortly before she passed away. And their skills and stamina seemed to improve with age. Oh how I loved to watch my mom and dad dance! Fast music or slow, it didn't matter. They were wonderful dancers and so much fun to watch. And I really enjoyed dancing with my father!

Which brings me to the point of this whole lifetime of family dancing. When I was dating, my mom was convinced that I shouldn't consider dating guys who didn't like to dance as much as I did. She insisted that if I were to marry someone who didn't like to dance, there would certainly come a time when I would want to go dancing and my husband would not. She then surmised that I would be ready to go out dancing without him. Certainly a recipe for disaster!

So when I met the cute guy that would eventually become my husband, I had no choice but to carefully scrutinize his dancing skills. He didn't pass the test. Obviously, his parents hadn't enrolled him in the academy of ballroom dance and boyhood chivalry!  I thought about my mom's advice but I really liked this guy. So I presented him with an ultimatum. Either he would dance with me or somebody else would. He explained that he didn't have anything against learning to dance but he'd never been taught. He asked if I'd noticed that most of the best dancers had older sisters or cousins who had taught them to dance. So the dance lessons began right away.  He was a willing student and I got my wish. My new boyfriend was my new dance partner. As it turns out, that boyfriend I had at age 17 is the husband I've had for the past 46+ years. My sweetie!

So here I am, so many years later, with feet that rarely allow me to go dancing. Even then, it's all I can do to dance with my comfort shoes, so there's obviously not the slightest chance I would consider dancing in high heels as my mother did all of her life.

I often think of my mother's advice and wonder "what if that advice now worked in reverse?" What if the man I married loved to dance so much that he'd now be ready to go dancing without me? As it happened, my husband likes to dance but he never gained enough confidence in his dancing ability to dance with anybody but me. Pretty slick on my part, don't you think? No worries about him ever going without me! So after all these years, I'd still love to go dancing every weekend just as my parents did.  But with my feet, there's no way it will ever happen. I'd give anything if I could dance the night away in high heeled shoes with my handsome husband. But in spite of all the blue ribbons we won as children, my years of dancing the night away were fun however short lived.

The mall is not my friend!

Today, I decided, was a good day to buy a new pair of athletic shoes. Although mine are fairly new and have lots of wear remaining, it often feels like my feet expand and grow bigger than my shoes. Maybe moving up a size would help. So head up high. Shopping face on. I'm headed to the mall. Oh heavens, I've come to hate the mall! Although I'd love to be an all-day shopper, my feet insist that the mall is not my friend. Since it's the middle of the week, I hardly expected that the parking lot would be crowded, but it was. Christmas shoppers, I decided. But my husband reminded me that a lot of people were off work for Veterans Day and they all decided that the best way to spend their holiday was to ruin my shopping trip by taking all the parking places.

My first surprise came when my favorite shoe store had vanished from its spot on the boulevard outside the main mall. Poof! Gone. It had simply vanished. I stopped at a nearby shoe store to see if they carried my usual brands. They didn't. They affirmed that my favorite store had closed and suggested a store on the second story of the main mall. I looked at my feet as if to ask an unruly child, "can you behave long enough for me to find this place inside the mall?" They scowled back at me in dismay. Of course not. They hate everything about the mall. They can't stand the thought of shopping.

But I put on my game face and headed up the boulevard, into the mall and straight up the escalator.  Since I needed hair products, I ducked into a store and quickly bought the cosmetic items. I asked for directions to the shoe store that had been recommended by the store on the boulevard. I made my way past several stores and, as I feared, the store didn't carry the brands I wanted. They suggested Dillard's which, of course, is the anchor store all the way at the other end of the mall. My feet scowled again and shot the intense pain signal pain to my brain. I scowled back and told my feet to get over it. We had a mission to accomplish.

Once inside Dillard's, I quickly found out that they stocked the usual brands of comfort footwear my feet demand. But their selection wasn't great. As I tried on a few pair of athletic shoes, a woman next to me complained of fallen arches and how limited her shoe selection had become. Privately, I joined my feet in a bitter scowl as I noticed that she was trying on boots with two inch heels. What I would give to wear boots of any kind, much less any kind of shoe with two-inch heels. Sorry, but I wasn't feeling sympathetic about her arches! Finally I found the shoes I wanted but they were a little too large. So the man offered to order my size and have them shipped to my house. That sounded great. But the man immediately disappeared and was busy helping other customers. While I mentally calculated the distance to my car, my feet ached even though I was seated. After waiting for the salesman far beyond what my feet would have allowed, I finally asked one of the other sales staff to tell my salesman that my feet had run out of time and I would order the shoes online. And off I went.

I stopped and rested my feet a few times as I made my way through the mall, down the boulevard and to the place where my car was parked.  After what seemed like miles, I was finally in my car and drove home shoeless and in pain. By the time I got home, it was dark and the ice was not a welcome remedy for my foot pain. But experience has taught me that it's the only remedy for nerve pain. I elevated, iced and went online to order shoes like the ones I'd found in the store. It's just too bad I have to try them on before I can buy shoes. The moral of my story?I should never try to by "comfort" shoes when my feet are in a bad mood!