Thursday, April 18, 2013

This Is Heeling?

Not sure if I should laugh or cry.

I'll probably do a bit of both.

Probably more than a bit.

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So, for the past two years, maybe more, I've had ankle fissures.  Last year they were pretty bad.

I'm not up for describing them in detail.  Plus, they are not exactly easy to inspect.  If you know them, you know they are painful.  Mine were predominantly former calluses that began to crack, in several places.  Many of the cracks were quite deep, nearly a quarter of an inch.

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I had a "breakthrough" with my doctor last week.  He finally understood the sock metaphor I have used so often.  Written of previously, my adjustments sometimes feel like the moment you fix your sock.

You know the feeling.  You put on a sock, not realizing it is not on correctly.  The heel is to the side or on top, so you feel pressure in some spots of the foot and ankle, great slack in other spots.  It's just wrong.  When you shift the sock into place, it just feels right.  All those oddities, the tensions and slack, go away instantly.

It really is a great metaphor for what I go through, though I can't claim to ever get my body on right.   My muscle and skin is the sock that is out of place.  Once in a while, an adjustment puts something in a whole new place, for me, that just suddenly feels right.

[Something to think on - for nearly 30 years, I wore my socks wrong without knowing it.  Now, trying to slide them into the right place, I've got parts that are stretched out, parts that have shrunk, and I'm in terror over discovering possible holes.]

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And so, this morning, in the shower, ankle fissures acting up even though I used some "heel balm" last night, I realized another almost-but-not-quite-irony.

Previously, the ankle fissures were behind my heels, most pointed straight behind me, varying by maybe up to 20 degrees or so.  Most are currently pointed diagonally, 45 degrees from the back.  [sigh]

They are not new.  No.

They moved.

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I'm embarrassed that I never put it together before.  I presumed all the jogging had brought them about.  Pretty dumb, when you think about it, as I no longer land on my heels.

Nope.  It's just the meat-sock that was has been adjusting.  The calluses that were once protecting an impact point have slid to the side, dried out, and cracked.

On the bright side, they don't hurt that much and have been annoying the hell out of me the past day.  That means every place else must not be hurting that badly, or I wouldn't be noticing the fissures.

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Mentally, I've had just about enough.  The pain and mental exhaustion is bad enough.  Realizing cruel and painful ironies pushes me towards a psychotic break.

I've coined the phrase "Death by paper cuts" to express slow exquisite torture.  These not-quite-ironies are like, well, the torturer takes a break from slicing me with paper to water board me with lemon juice.

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