Well, actually, you can hear me roar sometimes and whimper other times. I am in my mid-forties, so I am definitely capable of both. Aren't all women my age like that? In the course of a normal day there are family responsibilities, work stress, the pressure of staying healthy, and most importantly, being the best woman possible in every way already mentioned. I have to be perfect and I cannot have pain. There is no time for pain.
Wait... What just slipped out? Yes. I said it. Blah blah blah and being the best woman possible in every way... Without pain. I am told through print and social media that I will only be worthy if I am an expert at EVERYTHING all the while not experiencing any side effects. We modern women have it pretty rough because if we can't stop, it is a lot of pressure. It takes it's toll on us.
And it has taken its toll on me lately in physical ways I couldn't predict. I guess I wasn't paying attention to the right stuff. I am imperfect, for sure.
Occasionally, when I look into a mirror, I take a second to notice that I am not a little girl anymore. I feel young, and I haven't noticed my reflection changing, but it certainly has changed during the last decade due to raising my own children. Upon close examination of my reflection, I see little lines that are deepening like canyons in the space between my eyebrows. They formed as a result of frowning at five year olds in my class who can't keep their hands to themselves. When I frown, I think somehow kids will behave. The lines also come from from forgetting that I need glasses to read and when I squint, I can see 12 point font better. Neither count is true. The result of frowning and squinting are lines and therefore middle aged facial status.
But it doesn't end there. My feet are also 46, though my podiatrist would argue that it is not an age thing. Yes. Podiatrist. It was inevitable.
I began to feel pain in my feet in March. I slipped on ice and over-turned my left foot. I then hobbled around on it, putting more weight temporarily on my right foot. I do not like to admit when I have pain, so I went months like that. I was a subtle version of a zombie kindergarten teacher, only I didn't chew on anyone's arm. The only person who heard me whine about my foot was my husband. He was lucky enough to see me at my worst... At the end of the day when I could hardly move anymore and was completely out of patience.
During the school year, I ignore things like colds and minor aches and pains. I work through the year and rarely take time out for myself. The kids need me, so I did what any teacher worth their weight in crayons would do... I waited until my yearly summer physical to mention it to my doctor.
"You should have come in sooner. Don't ignore things," he scolded me. He sent me for x-rays and a referral to the aforementioned podiatrist, a hyper man with a foot fetish. And I have joined the esteemed ranks of going to see a specialist who I could have had as a student in kindergarten. I could also (maybe) be his mother. He looked at my mangled feet and grinned. It was a sad day.
But, alas, even with bad feet, I am getting ahead of myself.
Back to hurting my foot in March and the hobbling... (No, not the Hobbiting)... that would have included second breakfast, which honestly, I would prefer.
Because of moving into a new home in early March, I was suddenly able to walk to work. It was lovely to do so, though my gate was less than normal. When the weather warmed up in April. I got a pedicure and wore flip flops because I felt free from the typical wool sock/boot combo of Vermont, and was ready to do some "foot flirting." With pretty toes, I hobbled like a hunchback through May and June, gritting through the pain. It finally became obvious that I should acknowledge the agony.
I was to the point where I was wincing at the thought of morning and dreading sunrise because I would have to put my feet on the floor. I would drag myself through the first few minutes of the day until my feet warmed up. This was new for me.
I described the symptoms to the esteemed foot doctor as he interrupted with, "You have plantar fasciitis!"
The plantar fascia is the thick tissue on the bottom of my foot. It connects the heel bone to the toes and creates the arch. My tissue is swollen... inflamed.
"My life is over," I sighed and leaned forward on the elevated lounge chair he had to help me into.
Unaffected by my theatrical emoting, he left the room, only to return with an ancient photocopy of the steps (don't mind the pun) I had to take to undo what I have done to myself.
"I see it a lot." He pointed to my x-rays on the computer screen. "Bad shoes. I'm guessing flip flops."
"Guilty." I thought of the many pairs I had come to adore during the summer months... The leopard spotted ones, the fluffy strapped and sequin strapped ones, a wooden pair of high heeled flips flops. The tears built up in the back of my throat. I choked them back.
"Get rid of them." He said plainly. "Step one (ha) is no more flip flops or bare feet. Not even around the house." Then, he kneeled before me and presented me with a gift. The man gave me Orthotics!
"These go in your shoes. And you need to shop in the aisle at the shoe store where the shoes are at least $120."
"Do you have stock in any company? What names should I buy?"
He rattled a few names off. I think I heard Nike and NewBalance, but it was hard to hear his voice over the loud cash register sound.
Argh! Seriously? I have to now insert a foamy thing into practical, ugly, expensive, shoes. So that you are experiencing my horror, would you please insert a loud moan into the blog right here for me?
I mean it. Moan out loud for me. I have to grow up. No more flip flops. No more "feet flirting." Not that it mattered anyway. Who am I kidding? I'm middle aged and married, and the only people looking at my feet were daydreaming kindergarteners who should have been listening at story time. Maybe a future kindergarten podiatrist will notice that I have bunions forming too.
I know I will miss looking at my toes. I like nail polish. They make great colors these days. I like having pedicures every now and again. Why bother anymore? Sigh. I grieve.
It didn't end there. The podiatrist gave me more to do. I have to ice my feet for an hour a day and stretch for about a half an hour. Who has time for this?
Grown ups have time for this. My own kids are big enough now that I can sit for twenty minute icing sessions. They can take care of themselves now.
So, that was a few weeks ago, and since then I have behaved myself. I dutifully stuffed the orthotics in my shoes and have worn them in and out of the house. I have iced my feet... Actually it has been pleasant, and I have been reading more too because I am being forced to sit still.
I have to admit I miss my colorful toenail flair, but the pain is gone.
At least it is gone in my feet.
Wait. They feel better! I don't dread mornings anymore. Wow! I am healing!
But now that I don't feel pain in my feet anymore, I noticed that my right shoulder hurts beyond what I can tolerate. During this (my last week of summer) I crammed in two visits to the chiropractor. He has cracked my neck, adjusted my back, and assigned exercises for me to do each day now too!
Who has time for this?
I have to. He tells me I have a misplaced rib that has to be worked back into place. Don't worry... I have up to twelve appointments that can be fit in before Christmas break. Sheesh.
Thank God school starts soon, because it seems like the more time I have to focus on myself and go see doctors, the more my body is falling apart or at least the more I am able to feel it.
Besides, I need to stop going to specialists and get back into my classroom and... How does the saying go? Bloom where I should be plantared. Plantar Fascitis. Roar!
Oops... I mean "Bloom where I am Planted". Or, where I should be planted, a 46 year old distracted from her imperfections by a bunch of little kids. Time to focus on planting seeds in little paper cups and putting them in the window to watch them bloom. Time for sitting on the floor to play with blocks or finger paint on construction paper while ruining my back from sitting in tiny chairs. Hopefully, I can still get up this year.
My turn to give (little) people assignments and exercises to do for a change.
Bring it on 2014-2015. My body definitely isn't perfect but it surely can't take summer anymore.
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