I Didn't Even Scream

But only because the loud noises I made don't count as "screaming."

So I went to the podiatrist's today for another follow-up visit. A bit of history: Since October I have been having serious pain in my foot. It took months of my limping about for my friends to finally convince me to see a doctor. So I went to the health center in May to see their podiatrist and to figure out what's wrong with my feet. I have a Morton's Neuroma, which means that some tissue has grown, surrounding a nerve between my third and fourth toes, which means that I am in a lot of pain quite often.

Since that visit to the health center, I've had several follow-up visits to the podiatrist's clinic. He'd love to surgically remove my bunions ($4000 each) but tells me that we won't do that till I have insurance that actually covers it (I've known my whole life that my bunions would have to be removed one day...). On the first visit, he made molds of my feet so that he could fit me with orthotics. Two weeks later, I went back and received not only the orthotics (I thought they'd be these cushy gel in-soles or something. Instead, they're hard plastic meant to reshape my feet---like braces, but for feet) but I also received the ceramic molds of my feet ("If you have them, then we'll always know where they are"---clearly they don't know me well---did I mention that I had to walk to the clinic this morning instead of bike because I couldn't find my bike lock?). I went in a couple weeks later, after showing no signs of improvement, and he readjusted the orthotics and told me that if there was no improvement in three weeks, then he'd have to inject my foot with steroids.

I knew it would hurt.

I even asked my mom (who has had every kind of foot problem there is---and I'm so grateful that she's left me a few as an inheritance) and she said it would hurt.

I went in today. I sat in his seat, barefooted, and I thought I knew what was coming. He asked me about improvement. I told him that I could still only wear two pairs of shoes and even wearing running shoes was impossible. He said, "Well, we'll put a little medicine in there." As he said it, his eyes flashed a certain way that indicated that he was keeping some secret from me. But I knew what the secret was.

I knew it would hurt.

He came back a little later with a long needle. He started spraying my foot with this freezing cold numbing stuff. He said, "Now, this may hurt a little bit." Again, there was the look in his eyes. The look that made me know he was lying. Then the worst part. He said, "So where are you from?" I knew that it was only something he was using to distract me and "Ontario" was the last thing I said before he jabbed the wretched needle into the top of my foot (to reach the bottom!).

The only thing I could do was laugh because it was the only socially acceptable noise that I could make. I laughed a sharp, hyena-like, barking laugh that got louder and louder as the pain increased (he wiggled the needle around and squeeeeeeeezed the steroids into my foot).

"You---weren't---kidding---when---you---said---ITWOULDHURT!" I said, unable to control the volume of my voice (I could imagine other patients, nervously squirming in their seats).

And after about seven seconds of intense pain, it was over as soon as he withdrew the needle. "Ontario? Boy. That's a beautiful place!" He probably would have said it about any place: "New Jersey? Boy. That's a beautiful place!"

He added, "I had to warn you that it would hurt a little, but I couldn't tell you how much it would actually hurt because I didn't want to scare you." Thanks, doc.

I'm just proud I didn't scream.