There are conflicting opinions about my foot. The doctor I’ve been seeing since February about it thinks it has not healed at all. Last Monday, in what can only be described as a bizarre and upsetting appointment, he told my husband and me that there is no evidence of healing and that surgery now is no longer an option. It was as if he was completely reneging on his prior assertions that surgery would be the only way to get it to heal, now he was saying because there was no healing, he was not going to do surgery. This paradox and contradiction completely confused both of us. Ben took the mature higher road and tried to ask very basic clarifying questions to ensure we understood his flip-flopped opinion. I sat there melting down with tears and sobs fretting that “I’ll be in a boot until I’m 40!” The surgeon completely ignored me and only shrugged at my husband’s questions. Ben, seeing that I was unraveling, said, “yeah so I mean if it doesn’t heal in another year or two you still wouldn’t do surgery to fix it?” He stopped shrugging, paused, then said, “maybe after another year.” Then he said he’d see us in another eight weeks and walked out.
Like a barnacle on a sea rock, I clung to Ben and wailed about my frustrations and that the doctor didn’t want to help me. Although my response was emotionally over-dramatic, the stress of the appointment, diabolical nature of the doctor, and his unwillingness to answer our straightforward questions met at an overwhelming head. Even calm, cool, and virtually unperturbable Ben said, “this guy isn’t our doctor. He wouldn’t even explain anything.” Then like a mother duckling, he led me out of the office, trailing behind in residual sniffles and tears.
I spent the rest of that afternoon trying again to find other viable specialist in the area. I made a couple of appointments and tried to table my anxiety and frustration for the rest of the day. Not easy. As usual, I could barely sleep.
I received a phone call from one of the offices I had contacted by Tuesday afternoon. She had a cancellation on Friday in Connecticut, a distance I felt reluctant (but able) to drive. Friday, I drove myself down and met with the new doctor. He had a vastly different opinion and equally different mannerisms. He took the time to explain things to me, actually evaluated my foot with clinical tests instead of solely relating on imaging reports, and a contrary treatment plan. “It’s basically healed,” he asserted. “There’s still some residual swelling in and around the bone but it’s essentially undetectable.” He encouraged me to start weaning out of the boot and resuming low level activities. He even said he thinks I could be back to running within a month, quite a contrast to the other surgeon’s prognosis which was, I wouldn’t be running again for a year or so, if at all. After all, he didn’t think running was a healthy activity for anyone. Armed with a more optimistic prognosis, I headed home in much better spirits.
Unfortunately, that night while lying in bed, my foot had a more pronounced ache than normal. I had not even removed the boot for walking yet and it already seemed worse. As anxiety consumed my thoughts, we called the answering service (something I never do). To my pleasant surprise, the operator connected us with the doctor right away who assured me this is somewhat normal because he “really firmly manipulated it to assess the function and clinical symptoms.” He recommended icing it, taking anti-inflammatories, and keeping it in the boot the next three days and then resuming his purported plan. This made sense to me since we did do aggressive assessments after the conservative evaluation revealed nothing painful or abnormal. With the connective tissue disorder I have, it’s also normal to have tendon and ligament dysfunction coupled with extremely tight muscles, so he hypothesized that some of the calf raises and foot mobility against resistance had merely aggravated my muscles and tendons in the area.
I am optimistic about the treatment, care, and plan and delivered by the new doctor, but at the same time, my hesitation to remove the boat and start walking is rational. Not only has it taken so long to get to this precarious point of potentially healing, but the blatantly contradictory advice begs the question as to who is right and whom to trust. The answer lies within me. It is my responsibility and within my control to carry out whatever I deem best. It’s my foot and I’m the one who is experiencing the injury. More so than ever, I must listen to my body and pay close attention to my symptoms and needs. I plan to try carefully weaning out of the boot as instructed all while directly focused attention toward the area to monitor the physical response. I must strike an informed balance between heeding caution and restraining my anxiety so it doesn’t pollute my assessment. I pray that it has healed and can handle incrementally more sneaker time, but I am mentally prepared to dial it back if need be. This entire injury has been one of the most trying exercises of patience, maintaining faith and hope, and discipline. There have been more than many moments where I was ceded that I’d never walk again, let alone run. The future is still enshrouded in mystery, but the ominous gray cloud that used to conceal the bleak outlook portended, now looks lighter and brighter. My fears and worries are not gone, but they are better balanced by optimistic hopes for restored function, painless miles, and endless smiles.