I get hurt. A lot.
And no, it’s not at anyone else’s hand — it’s usually my own fault.
The last year alone there were the remnants of plantar fasciitis, the hip bursitis, the road rash from falling off my bike, the sprained ankle and a few bumps and bruises thrown in for good measure.
When I sprained my ankle last summer, just weeks after hip surgery, I sat on the sidewalk and cried… and cried… and cried. It wasn’t because I was in pain (although I was), it was out of pure frustration.
“Why can’t I just get better?!” I remember blubbering into the phone to the boyfriend as I hobbled home from my ill-fated run. He was kind enough to listen and let me go on… and on.
So when I e-mailed him today to tell him that I have a stress fracture in my right foot, he wrote back: “I am very sorry. I know how frustrating this must be for you.”
Here’s the thing, though. I’m not frustrated. And I’m not upset.
I’m just… at peace with it, because for the first time, I listened to my body.
The bottom of my right foot has been hurting since before Christmas. So I took a trip to the podiatrist right away.
I’ve been to see him twice now — once to get my foot checked out and get new orthotics, the other time to pick up the orthotics and get a steroid shot. The doctor thought my ailment was capsulitis.
Today when I went in, I explained that I was still in pain and that my toe actually still hurt after having the injection. He felt my foot and wanted to just adjust my orthotics and give me a gel thing to cushion my foot where it hurts.
And I said, “You know, I really feel like something’s off. Could it be possibly a stress fracture?”
He said it was unlikely because my foot wasn’t swollen and the top of it didn’t hurt.
I replied that the top of my foot was tender and he agreed to X-ray it just in case.
Turns out my self diagnosis was correct.
I have a teeny, tiny hairline stress fracture that didn’t present classically so he missed it. It was down closer to my toe than in the middle of the ball of my foot.
When they bumped up the contrast in the X-ray he saw it. And I saw it too: a squiggly line that went right across my bone. Ow.
Now I’m wearing a really ugly boot, but I should be OK in three weeks.
I can’t run, do the elliptical trainer or do a lot of my bootcamp activities, like walking lunges or plyometrics, but I can bike and row, and I can strength train. So I know I’ll be able to continue my healthy path and not get sucked into the depression spiral like during previous injuries.
Glad I listened to my body and insisted on the X-ray.