I’ve finally found a reason (or excuse) to sit on my backside for more than 5 minutes at a time. It’s called – plantar fasciitis.
I suffered with the bloody thing a few years ago. It was slightly annoying, and mildly painful at times, but then it just went away. At the time I bought some of those expensive insoles to put in my shoes and it seemed to do the trick.
Last November, after a spell of ‘wellie-wearing,’ it came back. It has continued to improve, in the most negative way, from that point to this and now I can barely put my left heel to the floor without collapsing. Possibly a slight exaggeration but not by much.
The physio referred me to a podiatrist and off I limped. Obviously, Richard had to get out the old foot rasp thing and give my feet a good old filing down prior to the appointment. I have my pride – and it’s so much easier for him to do it – because I can lounge on the sofa while he sits happily grinding off dead skin – not speaking (always a bonus) – should he breathe in the dust.
First we have the usual rooting through drawers and cupboards to find new batteries, because he is of the opinion that my feet flatten a battery in 5 minutes. The actual truth is that he insists on buying a pack of twelve for 99p from the cheapo shop, even though I have informed him that he needs to buy the ones that the little rabbit advertises, because they are so powerful he could have my tootsies done in the blinking of an eye. But, no, he knows best.
Anyway …first appointment confirmed the diagnoses. Plantar wotsit. Cure? Stretch my calf muscles by standing on a step by the balls of my feet and letting my heels drop. Opinion? I would be much better by the next appointment. I almost jogged back to the car (almost but not quite. Jogging is overrated) knowing that I could actually be bothered to do that exercise.
Three weeks on and all there was to show for my efforts was a bottom stair that was starting to look decidedly threadbare. The pain was getting worse – much worse.
I toggled off to Boots and bought an elasticated heel support. It made my foot balloon. I bought more expensive insoles. I bought two new pairs of the most unflattering shoes imaginable and embarked on a self-cure blitz.
A week later I wimped my way to the doctor, wearing the dreadful shoes and feeling like a pillock, and politely enquired if there was anything else that they could suggest. She informed me that I could have a cortisone injection into my heel. Really? Sod that. I’m no chicken – remember I had my inguinal hernia sorted under local anaesthetic and to the strains of the Mama Mia soundtrack playing in the background? So, no, I am not a chicken – but as I live and breathe – an injection into the hard skin of my heel? I said I’d give the shitty shoes, elasticated heel bandage, insoles, and the stair carpet a tad longer to have an effect, and let her know.
Last week I had the second podiatrist appointment. She beamed at me as I limped in and enquired, ‘How is it?’
I really didn’t want to rain on her parade but, you know me, Mrs Truthful. So I told her. ‘Bloody awful! I can barely put my foot to the floor.’
Long story short …she set about trimming some insoles and sticking sticky-back foam here and there and shoved it in my revolting shoe. At first try it felt easier. She seemed pleased and waited for me to beetle off. Now, correct me if I’m wrong but isn’t making one of my legs higher than the other going to make me walk like Long John Silver? I mean, I’m going to be higher on one side than on the other. She seemed to see the sense in this and set about ramming another insole in my opposite revolting shoe.
As she turned away and started tapping away on her computer I realised that was that. Over and out! Job done! I was told to go away and see how I get on and then she will authorise the making of a lovely insole, especially to my requirements – and in leather no less.
So …the insole is crap. My foot is crap. And it hurts like crap. So what can I say other than crap.
Even the chickens freak out when they see me approaching. Mummy doesn’t walk like that! Who is this freak? Is that a parrot on her shoulder? And …jeez …look at those shoes!
Chea, of course, thinks it’s a blast. She can pooh in the carrot seedlings and charge into the greenhouse ahead of me, jump up on the staging and knock over the cosmos pots before I can prevent it. I’m sure I can hear her humming, she’ll be coming round the mountains when she comes.
There is an old adage is the horsey world …no foot, no horse! I can relate to this 100%
The pain is now at its worst and I am on the verge of considering ‘the needle.’ I have to go for my B12 jab next week (stings like hell) so perhaps I should get the two pricks at the same time, if you know what I mean? I’m not talking about the doctors …obviously …but then again.
Take care me lovelies …oh arr …oh arr x
P.S I am so into this ‘pirate’ state that I’ve now watched ‘Black Sails’, seasons 1 and 2. Pretty crap to start with …but season 2 was better with a massive twist that I didn’t see coming.