A Cut Above

It's been approximately one week since I had surgery to remove my Morton's neuroma. In the event that any of my handful of readers (or anyone who happens to stumble upon this writing) is blessed with Morton's (or any other neuroma, for that matter), I hope they consider my experience in their quest to find the way of dealing with it that suits them. There are many options. After several months of the conservative approach, I chose to cut the sucker out. Know what? I'm glad I did, and I wish I'd done it sooner. The following is my experience.

2 days prior to the surgery:

I go to the outpatient surgery center, which is the first floor in a building full of doctors and physical therapists. Check in, sign some forms. Head upstairs to my podiatrist's office (we'll call him Dr. K) to sign a consent form and receive a prescription. I read the consent form that lists all the horrible things that could happen to me, which I already know because of all the internet research I've done and wish I hadn't. Dr. K sees me in the lobby from behind the glass doors, and because he is so awesome, I am pleasantly surprised that he comes out to talk to me. I express my doubts that this is the right decision. "I would just feel a lot better if we could see the thing, before we cut my foot open and go spelunking," I say. Unfortunately, you can't see a neuroma with an x-ray or an MRI. However, Dr. K looks at me exactly the same way I look at passengers who tell me they are terrified of flying - that mixture of empathy and reassurance - and tells me it'll be obvious once he gets in there. He says, "don't worry about anything." Despite my confidence in this man's obvious competence and years of experience, the fact that it has been diagnosed by 3 different doctors, and the knowledge that I've tried everything else I could possibly try to no avail, I remain dubious.

The next day, it dawns on me that I am scared for the same reasons some people are afraid to fly: knowing that something could go terribly, horribly wrong, combined with not knowing enough about what is about to happen, and most importantly - not having control of my fate. I relax. A little.

The day of the surgery:

I report to the surgery center and am escorted into a little room where I exchange my civilian clothes in exchange for a sexy robe that opens in the back, a single bootie for the special foot (I'm still wearing the boot on my broken right foot), and a hair thingy. I look like one of the lunch ladies from my high school days. We make sure I'm not pregnant (skimped by another month, yay!), the nurse starts an IV in my hand, and Sweet Cheeks is allowed to come in and see me before the surgery. Dr. K comes by and asks which foot (at this point, the boot on the right foot is off, but I am still wearing my sock. It's a festive sock, with wine glasses and grapes all over it. I thought about writing "no cutting" on that foot, but decided the sock would suffice). He signs his initials on my left foot and says, "This is me. And this..." he makes a vertical slash on the top of my foot in between the 3rd and 4th toes, "is where it is." He again reassures me and disappears.

It's showtime!!

The anesthesiologist comes to get me on my little bed, and suddenly my hand and arm burn as we make our way down the hallway. "Owwwwww," I say. She apologizes and turns to Dr. K who has magically appeared and says, "tell him what you told me." I feel myself slipping away and I feel it's only a matter of time before I'm gone. In a voice I recognize as the one I use after about 4 glasses of wine at the bar, I say, "HEY!! If I wake up and discover that not only have you taken out the neuroma, but you've given me liposuction and a boob job too... I promise not to be mad!"
He laughs and says, "Well.... that might be the end of my career."
And I retort, "but it just might be the beginning of mine!! HAHAHA!!"

Thanks to the propofol they gave me for anesthesia, I don't remember anything after that. Evidently, Dr. K came by my recovery room after it was all said and done and we had a normal conversation, during which, he showed me a picture of the monster he took out of me and assured me there should be no more neuromas (It was 3 cm x 1.5 cm x 1.5 cm). I do remember looking at the bandage on my foot and seeing a wine glass - it totally made my day! I went home, Donnie made lunch, and we both took a 4 hour nap.


It didn't hurt very much the next few days, and they gave me a little walking bootie so at least I wasn't on crutches. I was mildly peeved that it didn't match the giant boot that I wear on the right foot (Don has nicknamed me "Bigfoot).

By day 3, I really missed the taste of wine and felt brave enough to ditch the pain pills so I could drink. I wasn't sure if I should be proud of my dedication to alcohol or ashamed of it. BIG MISTAKE!!! After the small buzz wore off, I tried to use my heel to assist with getting myself out of the bathtub and felt an explosion of pain. I panicked. I thought, Oh Jesus, WTF have I done? I'm going to be one of those horror stories! I'll never walk, much less run or FLY ever again! PLEASE HELP ME!! I know you're not supposed to use the F word when talking to our Lord, but I was scared. The rest of the week, I remained in a pain-pill-induced fog, on the couch with my feet up, and read books on my e-reader until Don was ready to fire up the x-box.

9 days after the surgery, I was scheduled to go back to Dr. K's office and have the bandage removed. I hadn't slept the night before. I was worried he was going to take the stitches out and I didn't want to scream. So I took another pain pill. Plus, Mother Nature was really super pissed at me for going yet another month without fulfilling my obligation to my species by procreating.  Needless to say, I felt like hell and probably looked even worse. However, the staff at Dr. K's office is always so friendly. They even gave me a souvenir coffee mug! They removed my bandage. Dr K came in, had me move my feet in ways that to my surprise didn't hurt at all, we shot the shit, and he said, "We'll see you next week to remove those stitches!"

So... to sum it up so far..... It has been 12 days since the surgery. I am completely off the pain meds (unless you count recreational purposes.. hahah, just kidding, kinda). I am walking around the house barefoot without much pain. There is some numbness between the 3rd and 4th toes. I will get stitches out in 2 days, and I am no longer terrified. There are a few weird sensations in there that I want to ask him about when I see him, but otherwise - WHY the hell did I wait so long???

Disclaimer - this is only one person's experience. If you are considering having this done, it is EXTREMELY important that you find a good doctor. Originally, Dr. K was a second opinion. I trusted my original doctor, but was blown away by Dr. K's professionalism, cool personality, competence, confidence without cockiness, experience, and dammit - I just got a general good vibe from the guy. If you happen to be in the mid-Missouri area and need a good foot doc, I can refer you to him. Email me at deliawilles@hotmail.com and I will send you his info. If you're still with me after reading this lengthy account, thanks for sticking around. I'll post an update in a few weeks.

Going for broke.

This post is not going to be about flying.

That's because I haven't flown since before my last post. Actually, I haven't flown since July 15, because I am a klutz. If you put me in a straightjacket and a padded room, I will figure out a way to accidentally knock myself out.

A few weeks ago, while I was recovering from some kind of black plague I inherited from one of my first officers, I was walking down my hallway to the bathroom to get another tissue and maybe some OTC drugs that NEVER seem to work. Does that shit work for anybody? Anyway, ever since I broke my right ankle, tibia, and fibia 10 years ago, that ankle has been weak. Any uneven ground at all, and it gives. I tumble, usually in uniform at the airport, and usually in front of a crowd of people. Anyway, the rug in the hallway had a small wrinkle in it, unnoticeable to a normal person, but lethal to my ankle. As I tried to regain my balance, I heard and felt a "POP!" somewhere in my foot. Oh GOD the pain....... I shouted the F word about 10 times, then shouted the S word until Donnie peeked his head around the corner. I said, "I'm ok. I'm ok."

But I wasn't ok. I waited a few hours just to be sure it wouldn't start feeling better on its own, then called my podiatrist's office. As luck would have it, they had room for me the next day. I still managed to carry the laundry up and down our stairs, because in my denial I thought I was still commuting to work the next day after my appointment. I drank a bottle of wine and toughed out the pain.

The x-ray clearly showed a break in the 5th metatarsal head of my right foot. I looked at my doctor, and had just enough time to think, "how long?" when he answered my unspoken question - "4 - 6 weeks. You probably can't drive with a giant boot on, can you?" I said, "Well.... when I broke my leg 10 years ago, I waited until my boyfriend was out of the house, jumped in my car, threw the leg into the passenger's seat, and drove away like a thief. But that was an automatic;  I'm driving a standard now." He said, "no.... I meant, 'drive the plane.'"

Oh.

"Well, I could use a vacation," I said. He said, "you know.... since you're not going to be working anyway.... you might consider having surgery on your left foot to remove that Neuroma." I took some time to think.... and he's right.

In fact, I've been thinking a lot. At first, I was so pissed at myself for breaking my foot. And in such a stupid way, too! What a LAME way to become lame. I've been trying to come up with a badass story of how I broke it when people ask. I twisted it putting it up the ass of someone who really deserved it! I am on the Jefferson City curling team, and one of my teammates accidentally dropped one of those stones on my foot during practice. I was rescuing a crippled dog from a burning building, when the ceiling caved in. We both barely got out with our lives.

Nope.... I tripped in my own hallway. Weak. At least when I broke my leg 10 years ago, I was doing something awesome. You know what they say.... if at first you don't succeed, skydiving is not for you! Although, I couldn't tell my parents that I was skydiving. They'd freak. My boyfriend at the time and I cooked up a story that I broke it falling off a ladder while hanging Christmas lights on the house. My folks never really bought it, and kept asking questions. Only after I had healed up well enough to run away, did I come out with the truth. I haven't seen them laugh so hard in a long time!

So, the surgery to remove my neuroma is tomorrow. What is a neuroma? It is a non-cancerous tumor that grows on a nerve. It's painful. It's the thing that's kept me from running after my race in March. I thought that giving it time off from running would help it. It's only gotten worse. Now, each step is an explosion of pain. Not all the time... it's always a surprise. But, since I broke the right foot, the left one is doing double-duty and it's complaining. I tried physical therapy, 3 cortisone injections, chiropractic care, different shoes, and a second opinion, but nothing worked. It's like it's laughing at me! I'll show it.... I'll remove the little bastard.

You know what the worst thing you can do is? NEVER google "Morton's neuroma surgery." I am haunted by bloody, terrifying images and horror stories of how people are worse off after the surgery than before it. So.... this is a gamble. But I don't know what else to do. The timing is perfect.... time to shit or get off the pot!

I hope I'm doing the right thing. I hope breaking my foot was a blessing in disguise. I know if I hadn't been forced to take time off, then I never would have scheduled the surgery. I am comforted that I tried the conservative approach before resorting to this. I feel so lucky to have Don here to take care of me! He's been so sweet and helpful with my one-legged, gimpified state. And... to tell you the truth.... I am thankful for this extra time at home with him and our cat.

I told Don to take a picture of me with both feet wrapped up in their respective boots so I can refer to it on cold mornings when I'd rather sleep than go for my morning run. I am not looking forward to these next few weeks. I have already gained back 20 lbs since I stopped running. I so desperately miss being fit, and the endorphins that swam around my head after a 10 mile run. I am essentially at square one again. I hate the feel of the fat that has returned to my legs hips, face, and belly! Already, my right calf has atrophied into a floppy version of its old self. I am really regretting giving all of my fat clothes to Goodwill. The skinny girl inside me is screaming to go for a run!!

Will this be the rock bottom for me? Is it all uphill from here? Please God, let it be so.