Yesterday was a dumb day.
Oh, and boo. In case I forget later. Did I just scare you to death? Oh, oh, and good voting yesterday! Obama won, and I'm certain my poll was completely scientific. But back to my stupid day.
I had to get up early yesterday, and by "early" I mean 8:15. Look. Being unemployed has its advantages. I had to get going to the podiatrist, because my stupid plantar fasciitis was not getting any better. My regular doctor said, "If it doesn't improve, we're gonna have to give you a shot of steroids in your heel. And that hurts, I can tell you that."
If you ever want me to AVOID something, just tell me a horrible fact like that. Doctors NEVER admit something hurts. They say, "You might have some discomfort" when they put a speculum in your nostrils or whatever. So for MONTHS now I've been rolling my stupid foot on a tennis ball like some kind of twisted Labrador retriever or Martina Navratilova. Neither of whom actually rolls their feet on a tennis ball, but I never said I was accurate.
I've also been sleeping in a sexy splint, which I take off and very neatly place on my nightstand while I am DEAD ASLEEP, and I just kind of wonder what else I'm doing in the night. Making bad investments? REM e-mailing people? Not that I'm emailing "Hey! What up! I'm losing my religion!" "Hey, long time! Stand in the place where you live!"
When Ned and I went to the fair earlier this month and I liked to've DIED from the foot pain, he said, "You gotta go in and get that shot."
"Easy for YOU to say," I said. "YOU don't have to have a GIANT NEEDLE in your parts."
"June, I've had the same kind of shot in my knee. I was scared, too, but it didn't hurt at ALL. This is ridiculous. Go get the shot."
Guess who I ignored? But finally I Googled "Greensboro Podiatrists" because I'm fascinating, and I found one that had a website and they talked all about plantar fasciitis and NOWHERE in their treatment plan did they mention shots. This worked for me.
So I minced in there yesterday morning and they have a little bed/chair thing you sit on, and you place your feet on a very lovely doily and they ask you questions and before long the PA said, "Sounds like a classic case. Let's get an ultrasound and see what's up." She splooged the ultrasound gel on me.
Is "splooged" a dirty word? Because you know what I mean. She splatted it on my arch. I wonder if that one foot fetish person still reads me, the one who kept asking for more pics of me in my Dr. Scholl's? Because, RED-LETTER DAY for that person.
Soon she was looking at her little screen. "Is my plantar fasciitis a boy or a girl?" I asked, gazing fondly at myself in my mind.
"Heh," said the PA.
"Does…everybody make that joke?" I asked. "yyyyyep," she said, seeming beleaguered.
At any rate, the good news is I have pretty bad swelling and so on, which is exciting for me because I like my illnesses to be dramatic. No "slight case" crap for yours truly, over here. Give me the full-on Lassa Fever or whatev.
The PA starts telling me about what "plantar" means and what "fasciitis" means and if Tallulah had been there she would've said, "Hooo care," which is what I was thinking until I started to get…concerned about why I was tipping backward in the chair bed.
"What am I doing?" I asked, as the doctor snapped on gloves. Was she gonna do a strip tease? Get my mind off the pain?
"Have you had a steroid shot before?" she asked, spraying some COLD-ASS SHIT on my heel.
"No, and I–"
"All done," she said. Honest to god. All DONE? Dawgs, I didn't feel a THING. But just knowing she'd DONE it made me all queasy.
"I feel lightheaded. Is that normal?" I asked, the entire back of me all sweaty and Shroud of Turin-y on the chair bed. By the way, I totally want a chair bed. Gee, this show is good. But I'm getting logy. Maybe I'll just–bzzrrrrrp–HEY! I'm lying down!
I guess I could get a La-Z-Boy, right? Brooke Shields likes them, and she did NOT steer me wrong on Latisse.
The point is, in the end I was fine, and they gave me three sheets to the wind of paperwork so I can remember what time I do exercises, and what time I roll some OTHER thing on me, and they gave me an insert thing to wear and another night splint and also? ALSO? A list of the unsexiest shoes from all time, that I have to wear CONSTANTLY, even at HOME, until they say so.
Seriously, you guys, these SHOES. They're from the Granny on Beverly Hillbillies Collection. Holy god. They're Manohnoyoudidn't Blahhhniks.
So I left, and had to scream to work, and once I got there I told everyone who'd listen the whole story I just told you, and finally I decided to review my paperwork, because good being an employee!, and it was then I realized I'd left the DING-DANG papers back at the doctor.
I had to get BACK in the car, drive BACK to the doctor, disturb the PA's lunch (she had a big thing of cottage cheese. She was pretty heavy, so I wonder if she's trying to diet. If I ate a big thing of cottage cheese at lunch I would be so starved I'd STAMPEDE to Chick-Fil-A on the drive home) and get the dang papers.
I got back to work and did my, you know, work. Finally it was time to go, and I had my new foot brace and my box of numbing gel and the stretchy thing they gave me and my purse and also two avocados that Jane West had given me. They'd been on sale and she got really excited about them and "I got avocado goggles and bought too many," she told me. So I was excited to get those home.
When I got here? I realized?
I'D LEFT THE DING-DANG EFFING SHITPICKLED PAPERS AT WORK.
So I'm doing what I can remember to do, which is wear the effing night brace and not walk around without shoes and pop Aleve like I'm starring in Valley of the Dolls. Also, I am completely forbidden to do Tracy Ullman for the time being, so Ima get fat fat fat and have to eat big things of cottage cheese for lunch. In two weeks we'll see how I'm progressing.
…Should I totally use my ultrasound picture for my Christmas card?