Baby got a new pair of orthotics

I had a visit with the Foot Whisperer, a.k.a. Mark Fournier and Fournier Foot Care in Northampton yesterday. It's the bastard plantar fasciitis. It's dogging me at every turn! I can't seem to get better for real. I get sort of better-ish, then I try to cut back on the anti-inflammatory and I'm back at square one.

That's not how a person gets better from something.

On top of that, it was seeming like the painful foot massage was no longer helping - and was in fact hurting.

Suddenly, I was floundering around on the deck, not sure what to do next.

I decided to go back to my acupuncturist. I've had a couple sessions. We talked together about what to do next. She was looking at my feet and noticed these weird callouses I've developed because of the orthotic I got from my podiatrist. She said that she didn't think an orthotic that fit me should put callouses all over my feet.

Funny, because when I first got the orthotics and was feeling uncomfortable about the callouses, my podiatrist gave me a cock and bull story about how sometimes people get callouses from orthotics.

So I made an appointment with Mark and saw him yesterday. He said callouses are from rubbing, and a person's foot should not be rubbing their orthotic. If it's rubbing, it's not supporting. He took my orthotics and said he was going to try to modify them to work better, but as soon as he started taking them apart, he came back to me.

He said that he couldn't really fix them because they were basically all wrong. He wanted to make me a new one.

Secretly, that's what I wanted too.

To fit me for an orthotic, my podiatrist took a plaster cast of my foot and that was that. Mark made me stand in this contraption and looked at how I stood, looked at the alignment of my knees, back, everything. He took an impression of my foot and said, "Come back tomorrow."

Less than 24 hours later, I'm in a new orthotic. As soon as I put it on, I noticed a real difference and one of the near-constant pains in my foot seemed to subside. Immediately. Of course, other parts of my foot are feeling the pinch right now; getting used to a new orthotic always takes a little while and can be a little uncomfortable. Mark and his partner Les told me that if I wasn't seeing a distinct reduction in pain in two weeks to come back and they'd make adjustments.

I'm hoping that I never see them again. Not because I don't like them, because I like them both very much. I just want this motherfucking, bastard plantar fasciitis the hell out of my life.

Meanwhile, Mark carries shoes for giant lady feet. He's ordering some shoes that will fit me, and I won't be allowed to leave unless they do. Thank god, because those $130 shoes I bought several months back ended up not fitting me, but I didn't find out until I wore them three times, and so they were unreturnable.

Aside: Does anyone want a pair of these shoes in an 11WW?

Aside: I wish that when I started with the bastard plantar fasciitis that I had started a tally of exactly what I spent on it. I imagine that I'm close to $5,000 at this point. Motherfucking plantar fasciitis!

Anyway, I've got high hopes. Wish me luck. I'd like to be able to walk around like a normal person again soon and leave my gimpiness behind.

The latest

Well, we had our house inspection on Friday, and it all went off without a hitch. There are a few plugs with reverse polarity and a couple other small issues that we'll deal with after we close. It's happening in earnest.

I had a total meltdown - like total - on Wednesday night. Instead of celebrating our love, I spent the night crying out loud. The stress of the house buying just blew up over a very stupid request from the bank granting our mortgage. I got a raise on April 1 and they wanted me to submit a written statement explaining why it happened gradually over two paychecks. It happened gradually because it was effective on April 1, but April 1 was in the middle of a pay period, so one paycheck was partially my old rate and partially my new rate. My telling them this was not enough. I had to write a statement about it.

I don't know why this made me insane, but it totally did. I was actually howling from it.

It was, I guess, the last straw. I have given those people just about everything they could possibly want from me short of a blood sample. They took copies of my tax returns, pay stubs, then even more pay stubs. I signed forms, then more forms, then even more forms. I wanted to shout at them, "This raise means I will have more money to pay you back. What's wrong with you people?" Instead, I shouted and cried out loud. Scott lost patience with me for a little while, which scared me because he generally has an unending well of patience, but in retrospect, I can see why. I was completely out of my goddamned mind.

The good news is that I'm back in my mind. The other good news is that I ran into an acquaintance who recently went through a very similar situation and told me that she lost her mind for a while too. This gave me great comfort.

Scott and I both took the whole day off on Friday for the inspection and I'm glad we did. We were both so exhausted from all the recent madness that we came home after the inspection and slept all afternoon.

I've also gotten a lot of bad news lately. It seems like people are dropping like flies. Generally speaking, I'm not surrounded by death or disease, but lately people are falling ill or dropping dead. It's been taking a toll on my outlook.

I don't know if I mentioned that the bastard plantar fasciitis is back, but it is. I stopped having pain of any kind, became too excited about it, went for a regular walk and was fine, and then went for a too-vigorous walk and was decidedly not fine. I saw the podiatrist and I'm sort of starting over, which is disheartening, but okay, I guess. This time I at least know what works and what doesn't. I should get over it much more quickly - and when I do, I'll be sure not to go for any vigorous walks and will opt instead for bike rides.

My massage therapist who I see for painful massages about the feet suggested that I consider having a regular full-body massage to help me cope with all the stress I'm under. At first I was kind of thinking that she was too smooth an operator and she was trying to capitalize on my stress (she is an extremely smooth operator), but then I realized it was a good idea. I called her today and she had an opening and now I'm a little bit slimy, but I feel much better.

I'm off to pick up a Mother's Day present for a lady who deserves more presents than I can give her. My mother has been dealing with about a thousand more stressful things that I have PLUS she's been hauling around No-legs, who, incidentally, is a bigger asshole than he's ever been. I wish there was some kind of putting-up-with-more-bullshit-than-anyone-else award because that lady would win it in spades. That he's still alive defies modern science; that my mother puts up with his bullshit proves she's got more compassion than just about anyone alive. She'd give the Dalai Llama a run for his money.

Anyway, that's about as meandering as an update could be. We've covered a number of topics and I think we're done.

Unneighborly neighbor update

I've offered regular updates about my new neighbor situation over here. There's an update. There's been an update for upwards of two weeks. I didn't write it because, well, I was afraid the neighbor would find it here and a scene would be made.

I would have no fear of this except that his royal highness, the Count of Suffolk Street, Scottula D. Buttox, casually mentioned to the new neighbor that I have a blog.

But, friends, I can no longer stay silent.

A short recap:

• I over-rolled out the red carpet for the new neighbor
• After my shame (and a month) had passed, I left her (and everyone else in the building) a box of homemade cookies and candies for Christmas
• She replied with a tin of cookies containing mediocre chocolate peanut butter squares and delicious oatmeal cookies
• I replied with a thank you note and a request for the oatmeal cookie recipe
• She replied with a meticulously hand-written letter one full page long containing both the recipe and her hot tips for how to make cookies better, which were extremely involved and which I summed up here in about 1/20th of the number of words
• I was offended that she sent me cookie tips because I had made her some pretty fucking awesome cookies, but then chose not to be offended after anonymous advised me that she was trying to find common ground and obviously we both like cookies.

I showed the letter to a couple friends and asked them for their take. JBo said, "Listen, you're even now. You did something crazy with the shouting down the stairs. Now she's done something crazy with this letter and you're even."

I took real solace in this.

Two weeks ago I was arriving home from my extremely painful massage about the foot to alleviate the bastard plantar fasciitis. As I climbed the stairs, I heard our door open. I shouted up the stairs, "Darling, is that you?"

It sure was him. But he wasn't opening the door for me. Seems the new neighbor had knocked. She wanted to borrow an egg. I arrived at the top of the stairs just in time to inform her that we were plumb out of eggs, but that I could offer her dried egg-white powder, which works in a pinch.

She declined, but we got to talking, all casual and friendly-like about things.

Somehow, and I don't know how, I mentioned that my sister is a phlebotomist.

Her reply, "No offense, but you could train a monkey to do that job."

What?

I said, "Well, my sister is a human being who is a phlebotomist."

And she said again, "No offense, but you could train a monkey to do that job."

Scott and I started this whole trying-to-prove-that-Tesia-has-mad-phlebotomy-skillz-and-isn't-a-monkey thing. We're hopelessly devoted to her, after all.

Then she started talking about how serious she was about her cookie tips, and how important it is to avoid flat cookies by adding extra flour. (Aside: my cookies were definitely not flat!)

Scott started telling her that I worked in a bakery for six years. She wouldn't hear it. She just kept repeating her tips (or un-tips, as the case may be).

Then she asked me what radio station I work for. I told her. She replied, "My sister hates Country music."

Um, well, uh. "Great."

Our encounter ended with her telling us to stop by anytime. We said, "Yes! We will stop by!"

At first, upon mulling the whole thing over, I was wholly offended. Then I realized that this is a human who clearly does not know how to communicate with other people and her extreme negativity must come from a place of insecurity. I don't know how telling me my sister has the job of a monkey, that I need to avoid flat cookies and that her sister hates Country music helps her deal with her insecurities. And maybe this is just a story I'm telling myself so that we can all be pleasant if we bump into each other in the hall.

I have to admit, though, that I'm hella disappointed. I really, really wanted a pal in the building.

Of course I do have a pal in the building. He sleeps in the bed next to me. He's the Count Scottula D. Buttox.

Responding to my adoring public

My adoring public (also known as my good friend Damien) asked in the comments if the Count and I have any New Year's resolutions.

I don't. Neither does the Count.

I don't really believe in New Year's resolutions, mostly because I don't think a person needs a special day to make a change. I like to think of myself as an ever-evolving being. I'm not sure how much truth there is in describing myself as ever-evolving, but I try.

Although I did announce that I would recover from the Bastard Plantar Fasciitis this year, I'm not sure that counts as a resolution. In fact, I announced that I would be mostly better by the end of 2007 and all the way better by the end of the first quarter, as you may recall. Announcing things like that to the Universe in public can be pretty powerful. Allow me to offer an update:

Thanks to my murderous massage therapist, Cassie at Abudant Wellness, I definitely am mostly better. I'm healing up in earnest now. I realized that my feet weren't hurting anymore at all about a week or two ago, so I decided to half my anti-inflammatory dose (I've been on 1200 mg of Daypro for about 6 months). So I did. The first few days, I felt great. Then I had a bad day, so I took a full dose, but I've been taking a half dose ever since.

On the half dose, my feet have started hurting a little bit again, which I'm taking as a reminder to keep doing my stretching exercises. It's sometimes hard to stay inspired to get my stretch on when I already feel great. So while discomfort is bad, the reminder to take care of myself is welcome.

And the thing is, even with this little bit of discomfort, it's nothing compared to what I had before I started seeing Cassie while on a full dose of Daypro and stretching all the goddamned time. I actually see Cassie for a half hour twice a week. Cassie is lining her coffers thanks to me.

But you know what? I was reflecting on the PF recently and how things happen when they're supposed to happen for reasons we can't know. I don't know if I mentioned this before, but my first podiatrist told me that PF is happening inside your body for about 10 years before you start feeling pain. My feet could have started hurting in that debilitating way at any time, but they didn't start hurting until a week after I started a job that allowed me to afford to actually take care of it. If it had started earlier, I would basically have been screwed.

So I'm looking forward to getting all the way better in 2008. And as a result of getting all the way better, I'm looking forward to being able to take walks again.

Let's not lie: my pants are pretty fucking tight on me right now from my sedentary lifestyle. I only have about a half-dozen pairs of pants that it isn't obscene for me to wear. I'm eager to take a fucking walk and lose a little weight, but I'm not looking to lose more than what would make my pants fit me properly again and it's not in honor of the new year more than it would be in honor of the beauty of being able to walk again.

And I have been talking to my therapist about my body issues again because I am so afraid of losing my mind as related to exercise and diet, etc. But again, that's something I've been doing right along and not a resolution. I don't even know why I'm mentioning it now other than weight crap is what everyone talks about at New Year's time, and I was talking about weight related to my feet.

Oh, whatever.

Anyway, I'm also eager to be able to sleep without my PF boots on, mostly because I hate accidentally kicking Scott with them in the night and also because I've just started having carpal tunnel hand numbness and swelling at night again (I started having those symptoms as a cake decorator in 1997 and '98 and haven't had them since) and I'm going to have to start wearing the wrist splints to bed. Scott suggested that maybe I should get a full-body splint and just cut to the chase.

Get that guy a spotlight and a microphone. He's hilarious.

Anyway, happy New Year.