November 18th, 2025

Can we talk about this stupid foot for a minute? Yeah, you know the one.   It's that Franken-foot on the right.

When we last talked about this (or a least I talked about it) it was a mystery.  I came back from a perfectly nice long hike and was aware that my foot hurt a little bit, nothing big really but I could tell that my shoe was too tight.  When I took off the shoe, it was obvious that my foot was a little puffy on top, maybe there was a little bit of a pale blush coloured stain, (easily noticed on my fishbelly white feet) but I honestly had no idea what had happened.

As you read in the post from 3 or is it 4 ?  (5?) weeks ago, I addressed the issue by wearing Tim's slipper on the injured foot and shoving a small ice pack down my sock.  It seemed to help.  Eventually I was able to wear my regular shoe once again so I assumed that - whatever the issue was - all was well now soo I resumed my normal life.  Zooming along through my day afoot, doing regular daily things, exercising, doing the noonwalk, hiking and so forth.  And then the foot, mysteriously, began hurting again. Dang!

Shoe back off, ice pack down my sock again, but I refused to stop doing what I do. I declared that this was some piddly little annoyance that wouldn't stop me.  Perhaps I was doing things a little differently, but by god, I was going to keep doing them.  It's called being stubborn.  It's also called being stupid.

Once again, things improved, I resumed what passes for normalcy in my life and the pain came back worse than ever.  Geez!   By this past Saturday morning, I was questioning myself.  I tried in vain to recall why I thought it was a good idea to NOT have the problem checked out by a medical professional in hte first place instead of just assuming it was something that would resolve on it's own.  I didn't have a really good answer.  So I gave up, Tim took me to Urgent Care whereupon I got x-rays and learned that I had fractured at least one (probably more) metatarsal bones in that right foot. (note: metatarsals are not toes, those are phalanges!)

 And how did I do that, one might ask?   Excellent question.  The Answer is, I have no idea.  Best guess is that my crumbly little osteoporosis-ed riddled bones literally broke by walking. What?  Well it's not like walking down the sidewalk or through grocery store aisles, y'know.  When Joy and I hike, we are off-roading it.  We think of Florida as being flat, very, very flat.  Flatter than a Kansas cornfield.  And mostly, that's true.  But that doesn't mean it's level.  

State Park and Preserve hiking trails and far from level.   Ground isn't!  What's more, as the trails get closer to the water, the land tips down toward the rivers, sometimes radically down, the so-called level trail is more like climbing down into a ravine.  And what's down must eventually comeback up so we are sometimes slip-sliding down and literally climbing and clambering back up.  Also, trees fall across trails, often very large trees, so we are scaling up and over those too.  There are rocks and roots, and creeks to leap over.   There are dozens of ways that, without any intention at all, a person can hurt themselves.  Which I, apparently, found out.

As to why I didn't immediately seek out medical attention, hmmm, that's a harder one.  Part of it i think is just my nature. I am an under-reactor, always have been.  Some folks are over-reactors, all high drama and mountains out of molehills.  Other folks are just perfect reactors, they know exactly what to say and do in any situation. Then there is me.  I'm always calm but unless it's something truly obvious like arterial blood fountaining, or unconsciousness, or bone that is unmistakenly broken, I always assume that : This too shall pass.  That given enough time, it will self-correct and I just need to be patient.

The same way that if I start to feel unwell, I don't right away jump to the flu. I start out thinking I'm just a little tired, probably didn't sleep well and I plow forward. Then if it exacerbates into fever and sore throat and blah de blah other stuff my first thought is, throat lozenges, a nap and of course, my personal cure-all, a healthy dose of ice cream.  I always say, Let's wait and see how I feel tomorrow. And I say that every day until I'm fine once again then, looking back I say o myself, every single doggone time, Geez I really was sick, maybe I should have gone to the doctor.  Oh well!

so anyway, at Urgent Care, I was assigned the sandal boot, my foot was wrapped and i was told to Stay Off It as much as is humanly possible. To elevate and ice and let it heal.  Most of that stuff I was already doing so, good instincts there I suppose.  The boot was new (it's ugly but it works) and I'm being Much Better (tho admittedly not perfect) about the staying off it part.  

By happenstance, I had my annual GP appointment this morning and that doctor, for whom I have tremendous respect, strongly advised that I see a podiatrist.  Dang. But I probably will. I want to go on record though as saying that I don't want to. And further that I'm reasonably certain that my foot will heal without any further doctor appointments and co-pays and additional x-rays and "monitoring".  But I'll go. grumble grumble.

So for now I will do what they told me to do, I will wear the sandal boot, I will try to sometimes stay off it, I will try to sometimes elevate it and ice it. I will make the appointment with the podiatrist and at least attempt to listen to them with an open mind. Not so open that my brains fall out, but open-ish and eventually I'm sure it will heal.

But in the meantime, there will be a hiking hiatus so the return date on Photo Safari Reports is TBD.  The sandal-boot terrifies Wyatt and he is avoiding me as much as possible or at least swinging wide past the scary looking foot.  I don't blame him.  I clump around like Frankenstein's monster with a limp.  It's not pretty.  Both kittyboys are also more than a little put out by my inability to play rowdy with them which is what they like best.

Tim, as usual, is an absolute rockstar about picking up my slack and he is a true legend at yelling at me to sit my ass back down!  hehheh  I keep grumping that by the end of this I'll have an arse the size of a Mack Truck but I suppose once healed and back into my usual routines and rhythms, that will correct itself (gosh I hope so!) 

In my heart of hearts, I know this is temporary but geez it's also really kind of pissing me off.  Deep Breaths, Sam, Deep Breaths.  

Ok at least for now, done yakking about my stupid foot.  Next post will be more fun, I promise!

Take care ya'll!