An “owie” on my big toe.
Technically, what I have is a congenital deformity of my left big toe exacerbated by years of exercise, improper footwear and injury.
In reality, I have a very painful foot injury that nags me after I play basketball, wakes me up from a dead sleep and causes me much emberassment when I wear sandals.
Soon, though, that will all change.
Short story long:
I had had enough yesterday. Constant, dull pain. Horrible, bulbous joint. Bad sleep. Guh.
I called HR to see if my insurance allowed me to refer myself to a podiatrist. It did (does). Yay!
I call my PCP to see if they could recommend (not refer) me to a podiatrist. They can’t (or won’t). NO!
So I went today to the most superfluous money-grab of a doctor’s appointment ever. The physician’s assistant had me diagnosed before my sock was off my foot.
Also, I got stuck chatting for 10 minutes about the Bodies exhibition.
Funny anecdote: this guy said that if I were “indigent or homeless, like the ‘donors’ in the Bodies exhibition” he would have recommended a wider shoe (I’m wearing ’em wide anyway), a gel spacer (that too), some padding (at times, when needed) and some Advil (almost always).
Seeing as I’m young (his descriptor) and have good insurance, he figured I’d get surgery.
They could always shave the bone down, but my body would just produce more calcium deposits within a few years and the underlying problem and pain would persist.
Since I’m this for more than cosmetic reasons, I agreed that I’d fight to go under the knife.
I’ll regale you with more tales from the toe after I see the podiatrist. Until then, try not to think about my big toe. That’s what I’m trying to do.