Nailed it

I've known for days something was afoot. I know, I'm already sorry I wrote it. But it's going to be that kind of post, so you may as well start getting used to it.

This is not an actual picture of my foot. For starters, my story is about my right foot not my left one. My legs are also considerably more muscular from the exercise they get walking from the bedroom to the refrigerator several times a night. It's all about the calves.

Anyway, I've had an ingrown toenail on the big toe of my right foot for a while now. It had gradually gotten more and more painful, finally to the point where I had to do something about it. So I went to my podiatrist, Doug Richie, who also happens to be Jerry Seinfeld's podiatrist when he's in town. Hope I don't hurt my foot again dropping a name on it.

With my vast medical background, I figured Doug would trim the nail properly, the pain would be gone and that would be that. Were it only that easy.

He said apparently what happened is the shape of my toenail has changed, something fairly common as "one gets older", a phrase I can never really hear enough. He then informed me the best way to stop it from reoccurring was to do a minor surgical procedure called a wedge resection.

This little piggy screamed ouch.

Basically, it consists of numbing the toe, then trimming the wedges on both sides of the toenail so they don't grow into the toe. Ever again. Part of the procedure involves putting acid—not the fun kind—on the roots where the trimmed nails were to make sure those suckers are gone for good.

When it's over, he wraps the toe up and it looks like the toe in the picture. Actually, by the time I got home, the bandage looked a little more, shall we say, colorful. Which is why I'm sparing you a picture of my actual foot.

So if you need me over the next few days, I'll be sitting here soaking in epsom salts while I finish bingeing Hannibal.

By the way, I don't know if you noticed, but I got through this without any "arch" enemy or "He's a heel" jokes.

And we had a ball anyway.

My left foot

If you saw the title of this post and were hoping for a nice, insightful piece about the Daniel Day Lewis movie of the same name, I'm sorry to disappoint you. But if you've been following this blog for any amount of time, you already know that disappointment rides shotgun.

Yesterday I posted about my eyes, today it's about my foot. Who knows what body part it'll be tomorrow, although this is a family blog so don't get your hopes up.

For the last few days I've had a stabbing pain in the bottom of my left heel. Last night it was unbearable, and I couldn't even make the short walk from the bedroom to the refrigerator, a well-worn path I usually traverse several times a night (WIFE: "Where'd all the leftover ham, caramel swirl ice cream and chocolate Easter eggs go?" ME: "Don't look at me, I was asleep.")

I made a call and managed to get into see my podiatrist this morning. After he took a look at the x-ray you see here, he said two things. First, if you look just below my heel, there's a small shadowy area where the beginning of a bone spur is forming. I asked if I could put that on my resume, but he didn't think it was funny either. The other thing he said was I had Plantar Fasciitis, a tightening of the thin ligament connecting the heel to the toes and forming the arch of my foot.

I figured. I'd had it once before years ago in my right foot. That time, he prescribed stretching, a little physical therapy and some more stretching. After a couple weeks when none of that worked, he gave me a shot of cortisone in the foot and poof! - it was all better the next day.

Cortisone is a synthetic version of a powerful steroid the body produces naturally. But the catch is you can only have two or three shots a year, otherwise it's no bueno and can actually do damage.

Anyway, today, he paused thoughtfully for a second and said, "You know, we went through all that stuff last time. Let's just go straight to a shot of cortisone and knock this out." Exactly what I was hoping he'd say.

First a shot of novocaine, then the cortisone. That was this morning. Tonight, my heel is virtually pain-free, the Riverdance audition is back on and the refrigerator is waiting.

When it comes to complaining, I don't do a lot of it. No one wants to hear it, and it doesn't make the problem any better. But here's the thing: having the double whammy of being Jewish and an only child, I've honed my skills for complaining about my aches and pains better than most.

Truth is, I can go toe to toe with the best of them.