The doctor looked at me and said, I think you have a stress fracture in the right metatarsal. You'll need a bone scan so I can see the extent of your injury. And just like that I was fitted for a cast and drove off to Concord Imaging, my favorite imaging center. They're nice and it looks and feels like a spa when you walk in, which helps calm me down. I'm on a first name basis with Alma now, we swap stories like we're old friends as she injects me with radioactive isotope. When she maneuvers my foot under the camera I refrain from crying out in pain because I have convinced myself that I really don't have a stress fracture but am instead just reacting like a big baby because I want some extra attention. Even though it really does hurt and the doctor himself noted that the pain was severe.
Then the isotope begins to race through my blood stream down to my injured foot. It pools in the exact location that has been causing so much pain and glows an unearthly white on the screen. And I know that I'm not overreacting. The proof is on the screen and I begin to cry. Somehow seeing it in black and fluorescent white gives me the permission I need to feel the pain and my foot begins to throb. When the initial part of the scan is over I cannot walk. Instead I hobble to my chair and fight the sobs that want to take over. And then I pull it together, put on my cast and drive to work.
5 hours and 32 ounces of water later I am back at Concord chatting with Alma. She compares the new images to those from my bone scan in April that revealed a diagnosis of osteoarthritis. This time the right foot definitely shows a new injury and it glows much brighter than the silly old arthritis, highlighting the inflammation. For the next 45 minutes I try to lay perfectly still as my foot is placed in odd positions so the scan can capture all angels for the doctor to review. As I lay there I continue to berate myself for not seeking treatment sooner, for thinking that I'm still 26 instead of 5 months shy of 40, for trying to be brave or ignore the pain until walking was out of the question.
I'm grateful that despite my stupidity the radioactive fallout of this procedure was mild. Yes the pain is severe, but the prognosis is good. I will be in a cast for 4-6 weeks but there appears to be no permanent damage. I will be forced to care for my foot and not abuse it by pushing it harder than I should. That means no more running or extensive walking, but instead biking or God-forbid water aerobics. It also means old lady shoes instead of heels, once I'm out of my Frankenstein cast that is. And my Frankenstein cast is huge - because in order to fit my ginormous calves I had to get a cast made for Arnold, not Angelina. Hey it ain't pretty but at least I already have a costume for Halloween!
Then the isotope begins to race through my blood stream down to my injured foot. It pools in the exact location that has been causing so much pain and glows an unearthly white on the screen. And I know that I'm not overreacting. The proof is on the screen and I begin to cry. Somehow seeing it in black and fluorescent white gives me the permission I need to feel the pain and my foot begins to throb. When the initial part of the scan is over I cannot walk. Instead I hobble to my chair and fight the sobs that want to take over. And then I pull it together, put on my cast and drive to work.
5 hours and 32 ounces of water later I am back at Concord chatting with Alma. She compares the new images to those from my bone scan in April that revealed a diagnosis of osteoarthritis. This time the right foot definitely shows a new injury and it glows much brighter than the silly old arthritis, highlighting the inflammation. For the next 45 minutes I try to lay perfectly still as my foot is placed in odd positions so the scan can capture all angels for the doctor to review. As I lay there I continue to berate myself for not seeking treatment sooner, for thinking that I'm still 26 instead of 5 months shy of 40, for trying to be brave or ignore the pain until walking was out of the question.
I'm grateful that despite my stupidity the radioactive fallout of this procedure was mild. Yes the pain is severe, but the prognosis is good. I will be in a cast for 4-6 weeks but there appears to be no permanent damage. I will be forced to care for my foot and not abuse it by pushing it harder than I should. That means no more running or extensive walking, but instead biking or God-forbid water aerobics. It also means old lady shoes instead of heels, once I'm out of my Frankenstein cast that is. And my Frankenstein cast is huge - because in order to fit my ginormous calves I had to get a cast made for Arnold, not Angelina. Hey it ain't pretty but at least I already have a costume for Halloween!
My "Frankenfeet" - driving shoe and walking cast.
