This morning I had an appointment with the Sexy Podiatrist. (I know what you're thinking, how can a podiatrist, by very definition, by sexy? Just trust me on this one. Dark hair, chocolate eyes, Clark Kent-like glasses.) The visit was to talk about the orthotics he prescribed, which by the way aren't working very well. So anyway, I'm down to two pairs of trainers and the orthos don't fit into any of my many other fabulous pairs of shoes. I've been having a pity party about that for the last three weeks, believe me.
Today I went in and we talked, I told him that my foot was still hurting. I have something called a Morton's Neuroma. The orthotics were supposed to help, but they just didn't really get rid of the pain. So he said the next step would either be waiting a while to see if they orthotics work, or a cortisone injection. He suggested the injection just as a little oomph to get my foot to feeling better so the orthotics would work. I said ok. He said, "Let me go get the shot, I'll be right back." Now, those of you who know me fairly well know I'm not afraid of needles. I have blood drawn often, so the sight of my own blood doesn't affect me that much either. (Ok, I did pass out the time I stepped on the nail, but my flesh had been ripped apart. It was gross.) But having it sprung on me was somewhat difficult. Plus, I hadn't shaved my legs and my pedicure had grown out a good half inch. He's cute, for goodness sakes. What was I thinking? I'm still dying a little inside about that one. Really, you'd think I wasn't a girl or something.
Thankfully he blocked my foot from view with his body. But I certainly could feel that needle going all the way down into my metatarsal joint. He had said (and I quote), "You'll hardly even feel it." Hah! Liar! It mother f-ing hurt. He was pulling on my second to last toe and that toe in particular was hurting a great deal. But I was dealing with it.
And then, I swear on the baby Jesus, he started wiggling that needle around. Finally, among his promises that he was almost done, I called him on it. "You're moving it around!" "No, I'm not," he responded, like the sexy liar he is. He was actually sort of laughing, which really, he wasn't that attractive after that. I mean, he jabbed that needle in so deep! And he wiggled it! More than once!
So I've gone to work like a trooper, mostly because he said it would be numb for 8 to 10 hours, so I thought, well, numb is ok. Plus Sexy-but-not-as-sexy-as-he-was-before-he-wiggled-the-needle Podiatrist said I could. But numb isn't the half of it. It hurts. A lot. I keep making sort of involuntary moaning/mumbling sounds under my breath. It actually comes in waves, so I'm hoping if I say still and don't move around a lot, I'll feel better. The sad thing is that contemplating going home means I have to walk a block and then clutch my way home, which isn't much more appealing. At some point the debate will be between going to lunch or going home. I'm not sure who'll win.
emrm. hermerm. (That's the the involuntary sound phonetically, if you want to follow along.)