Irony tastes like pure chocolate.
Not the warm gooey kind you get in the bottom of your cocoa mug. Irony tastes like a broken chunk of Baker's chocolate.
The first taste is almost always unexpected.
And never sweet.
The other day, my Witch Dr nearly broke the Hippa rules.
He and I were having our usual cheerful banter/conversation. And I said, “oh, can you look at this spot on my foot, I think… well, if feels like I stepped on a rock.” I knew right away it was going to be bad by the expression on his face at my description of the injury.
He squeezed my foot as hard as he could, his eyes widened. He lifted his face toward me and, with my foot still in his grasp, said, “It’s a neuroma… You should see an Orthopedist. This is what…. Do you know…? I know, you're friends with… yeah. You should reach out to him if you’re comfortable.”
Yes I know (dot)(dot)(dot).
and when he had his surgery in February I felt so sorry for him. He was patient and positive, and muscled through the time of troubles related to his neuroma. His resilience is a reason he’s one of my favorite people. Yes, I know him.
I just wrote the word surgery on my blog. I do not need surgery. I have a long time and a lot of treatments to try before I could even consider surgery as an option. Oh hell no. I’m seeing my 2nd opinion MD tomorrow for an aggressive non-surgical plan. I’m not sitting on the sidelines of 2012.
I’m not because I think I could go insane.
I'm going to be a patient patient and do as I'm told so that I get better ASAP. Every day without running is like a day on the crazy train.
The depression that comes with not running has slammed into me harder than the 4 pounds of weight I put on over Christmas. It’s heavy and pins me to my bed when I think about going for a swim. I lay awake at 4 a.m. I know there’s a Rowing Machine and Pool who would both enjoy my company. Yet I don’t get up. I roll over and ignore the world. Depression is painful.
Far more painful than the neuroma in my foot, which I find a little ironic. The neuroma is all tingly and ~weird~ feeling. Unless it’s pissed off.
THEN it’s more painful than the depression.