“Laugh, clown, laugh. This is what I tell myself whenever I dress up like Bozo.” Jack Handy

Hello readers! I'm back by popular demand. (okay....... one person missed me). But I like that one person so I'm writing this blog just for her.

I've been up on my foot for a couple weeks now. My foot is doing OK, although it is going to take some time and I don't think it will ever be back to "normal". Whatever that is. It's been so long I don't remember! It is still swollen. Apparently, it can take up to a year for the swelling to go down. And my toe is still stiff. So I am supposed to be manipulating it around a few times a day.

But the doctor said I could try wearing regular shoes. (Instead of my lovely "post-op" shoe) Preferably shoes with a stiffer, supportive sole.

Herein lies my problem. None of my shoes fit on my swollen foot. It is at least one to two sizes bigger than my other foot! The last shoes I was told to buy when I broke my foot were Danskos. Because of the way Danskos are made, your foot doesn't bend---it rolls. So I shelled out $130 of Alan's hard earned buck-a-roos for a pair of clunky Danskos. Yes, they helped me walk better, but I felt like Bigfoot wearing them.

In fact, my shoes were sitting by the front door one day when Hannah came home from school and said:

"Oh, is Dad home?"

"No, why?"

"I just saw his shoes by the front door."

WAAAAH!

That's how big and masculine looking the shoes are. To add insult to injury, the very next week I was visiting teaching and took my shoes off by the front door, as is customary here in the tundra. As I was visiting with the mother, her little toddler walked by hefting one of my shoes and saying, "Da-da. Da-da." The mom said, "Oh, she thinks those are her Dad's shoes."

WAAAAH!

After digging around in my closet, I did come up with a pair of brown leather Born clog style shoes that I have managed to squish my left foot into. They are fine for now. That just leaves me with the problem of what to wear with a dress on Sunday and to YW New Beginnings this Wednesday. I already feel like I am Alice (the maid from the Brady Bunch) standing next to Florence Henderson, the mom, A.K.A. Sister Vassar. So I am determined to find a church type shoe to wear to this event.

But where can I find a store that will sell me one size 11 shoe and one size 9 shoe? Even Salvation Army won't do that! It soon becomes obvious that I am going to have to go with the bigger size and clump around on a shoe that is too big on my good foot.

And, I refuse to spend another $100 or more of Alan's hard earned moo-lah on shoes that don't really fit right and that might be too big, if and when the swelling goes down.

After looking at several stores, I did manage to find a pair of black, kind of wide-toed, sturdy, flat heeled leather shoes with a strap on sale for $14.99 that I could get my left foot into. They are kind of cute but not the most feminine. The size 11 fit the bad foot and the size 9 fit the good foot. I didn't really want to buy both sizes, so I compromised on a size 10. They are a little tight on the left and too big on the right, so I stuffed the toe with cotton balls, which helps a little.

So.........I guess I will wear them with my skirt to New Beginnings. Our speaker is a cute little thing who wears at least 4 to 5 inch heels and I know I'm going to feel like Bozo standing next to her. Oh well, I'll just have to remind myself to:

"Laugh, clown, laugh!"

Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly? Frida Kahlo

Personally, I think Frida Kahlo is on drugs. I mean it's a nice sentiment--having wings to fly---and all, but I haven't met anyone who has them....yet. I have met people with horns, but not wings. But let's humor Frida for a minute. What would you do if you had wings to fly? Here's my list:

If I had wings to fly I wouldn't have to drive for 3-6 hours to take YW to stake activities.

If I had wings to fly I could go visit all my kids and relatives not living here.

If I had wings to fly I would go someplace WARM like New Mexico or maybe Hawaii.

If I had wings to fly I could have flown on the ill-fated, tick infested, 9.2 mile hike and maybe my foot wouldn't have started hurting.

If I had wings to fly I wouldn't be sitting in my "basement office"--I could fly upstairs whenever I wanted.

In fact, if I had wings to fly I wouldn't have had to have a pin in my toe and a plate in my foot because I would, in fact, not need my feet.

Unfortunately, since I don't live in la-la-land like Frida, I DO need my feet!

Speaking of my feet, I have good news and bad news to report.

The good news is, I got the pin out! And lived to tell about it. YIPEE! I have the pin in my possession. It will be good for grossing out the young women and Sister Vassar. Too bad my kids are so old now, otherwise they could take it for show and tell. It's 5 1/2" long and pointed on the end like a nail. I know you are all wondering---DID IT HURT? Only for a second when I felt a sharp stab of pain. And then it was over. When he first started pulling on it, the end with the ball broke off, so he just grabbed the end with a pair of pliers and yanked. So now, instead of my toe being curved under and claw-like it sticks stiffly straight out. So far, I have been unable to bend it, but the dr. hopes I will be able to in time. It is a weird feeling to bend my toes and have one that sticks straight out. I feel like I'm, you know, giving people an old-fashioned "california salute". Also, it is mostly numb.

The bad news is that I still can't put any weight on my foot for TWO MORE WEEKS! I cried all the way home from the doctor's because I was so hoping I could walk earlier. Two more weeks seems like an eternity! In all, it will be 5 1/2 weeks that I can't walk. Even when I can put weight on it, if it hurts a lot or swells up I have to stay off of it. :( :( I'm so bummed out! I wanted to be up and about before Valentines' day and all the boys birthdays and Hannah's concert and Kristin vocal solo..................so sad. But........there was a bright spot to my day. I received in the mail, a homemade "walker bag" that attaches to my walker with velcro and has three slots--one for my water bottle, one for the TV remote, and one for my book. Such a thoughtful and clever gift. Now when I go visiting teaching at the assisted living center, I will fit right in and be the envy of all the tenants there!

This post was actually supposed to be a continuation of the downward progression of my foot, but I'll have to save that for next time. "They Didn't Know They Were Pregnant" is on!

X-rays of my foot!

“Be sure you put your feet in the right place, then stand firm.” Abraham Lincoln

It's time for another update to my blog. Mainly because I can't stand to watch another daytime TV show!

Honestly, how much daytime TV can one watch? Ugh. I never realized how many bizarre shows there are in the day. Like, "They Didn't Know They Were Pregnant" or "My Strange Addiction". Really weird stuff. One lady eats toilet paper (must be 2-ply) another eats couch cushions. I mean, eating dirt and wall plaster is understandable, but these people are just WEIRD! Although, I must say, that after having to depend on people to bring food down to me in the basement, the tulips Sister Vassar sent me are starting to look edible!

I know you've all been holding your collective breath waiting to hear what happened with my foot after getting home from camp. To make a very long story short, the pain in my ___________(fill in the blank with your choice of dorsal, crown, frederick, pinnacle, summit, superior, etc.!) didn't go away. I consulted a chiropractor. The ultrasound wand treatment that normally feels so good hurt like heck. I consulted a foot doctor. He said he didn't need an x-ray to know it was a bone spur, ordered me really expensive inserts that he assured me our insurance would cover--it didn't--and THEY hurt like heck to wear. FINALLY, I was able to get into the Orthopedic Surgery Specialists.

The Dr. there took an x-ray, thought he saw something but couldn't be sure, so he ordered an MRI, which ended up costing us $1000 out of our own pocket, which hurt way more than my foot did!

The MRI revealed a ganglion cyst in the joint of some bones on my ______________. My options for treatment were cortisone shots to shrink and maybe even pop the cyst, or surgery to fuse the joint in my foot together. UGH. I opted for the cortisone shot.

I must interrupt here to say that when my husband heard it was a ganglion cyst, he told me that his mom once had one in her wrist. The doctor took a really heavy book and smashed it down on her wrist, the cyst popped and that was it. That is really how they used to treat them, thus earning ganglion cysts the nickname of "Bible Bumps." So naturally, I took my large print Bible to my next doctor's visit and asked him to hit my foot really hard with it. He declined. I should have been more missionary minded and taken my Book of Mormon.

The cortisone shots would help for awhile but the pain always ended up coming back. Until that fateful day two years later at YW CAMP in Brookings where my foot took a turn for the worse. Needless to say, CAMP and I don't get along very well and that is a story for my next blog.

And now, it is time to announce the winner of my "name for the top-of-the-foot" contest. I have to say that it was really hard to pick just one winner. The entries were all so clever and witty. They made me laugh! But one suggestion really stood out from all of the rest. It was sent in by a reader named Susan who simply suggested calling it the "bridge" of the foot. Yeah. I like that. So, congratulations Susan, you are a winner! Susan, you will receive a visit from Alice who will personally sing you her hit single, "Rick, the Tick."

Muah, ha, ha, hah! I- AM -SLOWLY- GOING- CRAZY- IN- THE- BASEMENT!!!!!!!!!!!

I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. Patrick Henry

Ok, since I can't go anywhere (even up the stairs), except back and forth with my walker from my sturdy arm chair to the computer chair to the bathroom, I decided now would be the perfect time to start a BLOG and my foot surgery would be the perfect subject to blog about. (I heard that groan Forrest!)

So..........where to start? Let's start at the very beginning.......a very good place to start. (Yeah, me and Julie Andrews are tight like that. We have a lot in common, not the least thing being that we are both practically perfect in every way!) CHEEKY!

It was a bright and sunny day 4 years ago at Itasca State Park in central (I think) Minnesota. I was at a church young women camp where my friend, Coralea, and I were chaperones. We were on a lovely (NOT) 5 mile hike with all the 2nd year campers. The only problem was, everyone else on the hike had disappeared into the dense woods except for us four: Me, Coralea, my daughter Kristin, and a sweet young woman from Grand Forks. We were following a little xeroxed map of woodsy trails that some mathematically challenged young women had figured out added up to five miles. It soon became apparent that we were lost. Like really lost. Not a human soul in sight. Just Mother Earth, Father Sky and a zillion pesky TICKS! (This was the infamous hike from which my original rap song, "Rick, the Tick" was born. But......I digress.) What could we do but pray and keep walking? I was seriously scared that we would never see civilization again. Anyway, about halfway through our journey in the haunted forest, I was seized by a sharp stabbing pain on the top of my foot.

Which makes me wonder.........how come there isn't a name for the top of the foot? We have the heel, the ankle, the ball, the toes, but there is not a word for the top of the foot, thus making me type 4 words--top-of-the-foot- when one good word could suffice, if there was one. So I am now announcing that I am having a contest for all the readers of my blog, to come up with a good name for the top- of- the- foot. The winner of the contest will receive an original copy of my hit rap song, "Rick, the Tick."

Anyway, that day 4 years ago, when a sharp stabbing pain seized my foot, was what ultimately led to my recent foot surgery, which ultimately led to me being confined to the basement with Maggie (by the way, we now smell the same since so far I have only been able to take sponge baths) which ultimately led me to the brink of insanity due to sheer boredom, which ultimately led me to write this blog.

In the next installment, you will accompany me on my journey of discovery as I seek answers for the sharp stabbing pain on the top-of-my-foot. Betcha cant' wait!

Oh, in case you were wondering, we finally found our way to the road after about 4 HOURS in pergatory. The sad part was, no one even knew we were missing! After I got home, I perused my little xeroxed map and added up all the miles and figured out that our 5 mile hike was really 9.2 MILES! And what happened to everyone else that was supposed to be on the hike with us? They had turned around and gone back way back there at the beginning. GRRRRRRR! There's gotta be a special place in heaven for adult women who go to girls camp. Even winning the revered and sacred "Most Spirited Camper" urn of ashes two years later was little consolation.

Don't forget to enter the contest all you creative word girls!