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.