It was only tender when I stepped directly on the spot so I just learned to live with it. Because what was my other option? To go see a doctor or something? That would be inconvenient. So I just developed a new stride that avoided actually applying any pressure to the upper right half of my heel and went about my business. Easy enough and now I had swagger.
Last week Nick was looking at it and mentioned that it looked infected, and since infections and pregnancy go together like flowers and a tombstone I decided to call my friend L.L. Cool Foot the podiatrist to get it taken care of.
"Now, I'm just going to tell you - this is going to hurt," he said, jabbing a forearm sized needle into my heel.
He was right, but I'd had worse.
For 20 minutes he cut and pulled and dug and cut and pulled and dug and once it was finally out he put it in a little jar of fluid where it happily bobbed up and down.
"Can I see it?" I asked, sweaty and smiley and breathless. After all that work I wanted to see what had been gestating in my body for the past three years.
I held it in my arms and it looked back at me - a cute little fleshy bloody mass. I could tell by the way it just floated around all lazy like it was definitely a boy.
As he applied the dressing he said, "You're really a bleeder!" I looked down and noticed a beach towel soaked in blood. "You're probably going to bleed through this by tonight. Just get some clean gauze and have Nick re-wrap it. Keep it wrapped up until Friday, then we can take a look at it."
What? Keep it on until Friday? I was expecting a little Snoopy band-aid. "Can I shower with it?"
"No, keep it dry. You'll have to put a bag around it. Oh, and here's a special shoe for you to wear."
Special shoe? What the...
"And, for pain meds..."
Hold the presses. Pain meds! My FAVORITE!!! Things suddenly took a turn for the better. I felt the drool drip out of the corner of my mouth.
"...I'd like you to call your O.B. and see what he says is okay."
Ooooh! I like the little blue ones! No no wait... the little round white ones! I felt like a kid at Christmas. I paged J.T. my Trusty O.B. the minute I got to the parking lot.
"You can take either Fioricet or Vicodin," J.T. told me as I tried to contain my excitement and stay on the road. "But I'd go with the Vicodin. It'll help you write more interesting blogs."
You know, the funny thing about pain meds is that when your doctor prescribes them it usually means you'll be in a lot of pain.
Later that night my bandage looked like a maxi pad and as Nick was changing it I mentioned that my heel was still numb.
"Take that as a blessing," he said, squinting and holding my foot up to the light.
"You can tell me either way."
It's really a give and take.