Often people will hear me refer to Herbert, Herbert, Jr. and Mathilda like they are old family friends. We spend time together, walk together, write together….in essence we are connected at a very deep level. Who is this trio of personas?
Herbert is the Morton’s Neuroma that has developed in my right foot. Basically a benign tumor that is growing on the nerve in-between my third and fourth toe, which I have had two steroid shots for and will eventually need surgery to correct.
A quick word (or maybe not so quick) on the joy of a steroid injection….the first one, I am laying back on the table and I get my foot swabbed off really well with alcohol and then freeze rayed with some sort of canned air, then the nurse shows me this needle….not really sure needle would be the correct term…hmm…LARGE, hollow, sharp, shaft filled with serum that she intends to stick in my foot. Yep, that sums it up! So she takes hold of my foot and tells me to make sure I let her know when it starts to be unbearable. She seems so sweet, about 5’4”, thin with short pretty blonde hair, dimples even. I trust her implicitly!
Okay, I can do this! When it gets unbearable, she’ll stop. I have given birth, gone through labor, had surgery….I can do this. Uhhh-huhh, I am woman hear me roar and all that. This lovely lady sticks the LARGE, hollow, sharp shaft filled with serum into my foot and I nearly jump off the table. (Have I mentioned that at one point in my life it took 2 nurses, a doctor and my mother to hold me down for a shot? I have come a long way, but this is ridiculous!) So, I am breathing deep through the searing burn of the steroid being injected into the tender ball of my foot and I reach the point where seriously the lights are fading and I am going to pass out.
“Okay, it’s unbearable. Really!” I gasped.
“Great, we are in the right spot.” She says cheerfully. EXCUSE ME!!! EXCUSE ME!!!
“You said to tell you when it got unbearable, this really HURTS!” I am trying not to cry, not to pass out, not to vomit all over her (because she is at my feet and while the thought of covering her in vomit is very appealing right that minute….I would in turn be covering myself!).
“We are almost done, just breath….”
I laid back on the table and imagined any manner of painful death that I could for this petite woman who clearly eats too little. Did she forget to eat this morning? Maybe that is her problem!! I cannot speak. I feel a final “umph,” I know, not really a word, but for lack of one to describe it…maybe final push? And she announces that she is done.
“Maybe you should lay there a few minutes. Are you okay?” I cannot speak. She leaves; I think she can feel the daggers following her.
A different nurse comes in a few minutes later….
Around six months later, I had to do it all again!! This time it was a male nurse and he had the courtesy to ask if I had ever had to have this done before. He got the whole story!
“That was not cool! Now that you know what to expect as long as you promise not to kick me, we will get through this.”
Kicking, Kicking….why the hell did I not think of kicking before??!
In order to hopefully postpone having this amazing shot done again, I wear Granny Shoes….yes, Granny Shoes. With, get this, orthotic inserts!! Not just any orthotic inserts – ones that I went and had MADE FOR ME!! This from the woman who can honestly say, up until this point consistently bought shoes at PAYLESS!! Payless during BOGO!!!
Mathilda came along later, after wearing the Granny Shoes with Inserts for a while. She is a little bump on the side of my foot. She is not a corn…frankly, they can’t exactly say what she is…other than painful. So, in my special Granny Shoes with Inserts I now have a special doughnut for Mathilda, made especially for her by the “special shoe store.”
Between Mathilda and Herbert there is no waltzing! (Or dancing, much walking or even much yoga!)
That only leaves Herbert, Jr. to introduce. But Junior and I actually get along pretty well, especially since I get to gross people out with him! He is basically a Morton’s Neuroma on my left hand, I think in this case they call it a cyst. When I open and close my hand he moves up and down the back of my hand. He dances to the movement and as I have lost more and more weight, 80 pounds and counting, people can see him better and I get to introduce him. Twisted? Oh yeah! But, I gotta tell you, it cracks me up.
If I am going to have these weird things, I might as well embrace them. I can’t necessarily change them right now. I work two jobs, have three kids, a husband (who by the way is amazing!), I am doing medical transcription training and trying to write….somehow surgery just doesn’t seem to fit into my schedule to take care of Herbert. Anyway, I might miss him. Hmm…probably not!
Live, Laugh, Love ~Vanilla Mama