I’m not talking about “painting myself into a corner,” or some other metaphorical shooting-of-foot. I’m talking about letting the podiatrist stick a needle full of cortizone and novacaine into a medial plantar nerve in my left foot in what now feels exactly like the vain hope that it will make things better.
So I guess that while there was a literal shot in my literal foot, I didn’t literally do it myself. But two out of three ain’t bad.
Three months ago I banged up my left foot hiking. Six weeks ago I realized it still hurt, and wasn’t getting better. So I did what any sane, type-A guy would do: I rubbed some dirt in it and decided to favor that leg until it got better. (Note: I did not literally rub dirt in it. That is hyperbole.)
Six weeks later I realized it was getting worse, if it was in fact getting anything, and I was tired of looking like a grumpy old man limping around town (literally. No hyperbole there.) So I went to the podiatrist, and that brings us to the shot (I’m skipping the X-ray, palpitation, and diagnosis, cutting directly to the metaphorical chase.)
The nerve is towards the very bottom of the foot. The shot goes in from the top, because needles don’t like calluses, and doctors don’t like patients (hyperbole? You call it.) The last thing you want to hear when you’re gritting your teeth over an injection is “almost there… almost there…” Yeah. My thinking went along the lines of “as long as this doesn’t get any worse I’ll be just fiiiEEEAAAACKING HELL THAT HURTS” (maaaaybe there’s some hyperbole there.) And then the needle came out, the bandage went on, and within thirty seconds I actually felt GREAT.
It was wonderful. For the next four hours I walked around as if nothing had ever been wrong. It did feel like two of my toes were missing, but at least they didn’t HURT.
(For those of you keeping score at home, yes, four hours is about how long it takes for novacaine to wear off.)
For the past three hours I’ve been limping like an eighty-year-old with a shiny, new titanium hip replacement, and I’ve been doing the “thousand-yard-stare” common to those who are not feeling much pain anymore because of the flood of endorphins. Except that I am still feeling the pain.
Obviously this case of “Morton’s Neuroma,” and when I find Morton I’m going to kick him in the teeth.
With my RIGHT foot. In a boot.