Someone once said, “If it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t work.” I’m getting to the age where I may have to dispute that statement as I’ve found that just because it doesn’t work, it still may hurt. Take this morning as an example. The Pickle Queen and I were lying in bed watching The Weather Channel when she asked, “What’s on your agenda for the day?” Now that I’m retired, I feel that I don’t have to accomplish anything useful on any given day. I’ve paid my dues. My usual reply to that question is, “Once I get up and find out what hurts the least, I’ll know.” One step out of bed and I knew. My Morton’s Neuroma has been bothering me lately and this morning was no exception. A Morton’s Neuroma is a swelling of a nerve that runs between two toes. One of the symptoms is that it feels like you are walking on a ‘pebble’ (the doctor’s term). I say it feels like you are walking on a ‘golf ball’ under the ball of your foot. This morning, the pain brought back memories of my first visit to the doctor with this problem.
Thinking it was broken, I hobbled into the emergency room and asked for my foot to be X-rayed. After waiting patiently for my turn, the nurse ushered me back to a curtain enclosed cubicle. It wasn’t long and the doctor came in, examined my foot and ordered an X-ray. Heck, that’s what I told them I needed when I walked in and I don’t have a medical degree.
After the technician finished with the ‘pictures’, the nurse took me back to the same cubicle I was in before. After what seemed like an eternity, the doctor returned, looked at the X-ray and told me that my foot was not broken. He went over to the cabinet, took out a surprisingly large pill and handed it to me.
Just then, the doctor’s beeper went off and he excused himself.
Still in much pain, I looked at the big pill thinking, How on earth am I going to swallow that? But, being in a lot of pain and not knowing how long the doctor was going to be gone, I closed my eyes and forced myself to swallow the tablet. It was horrible. Worse than trying to swallow the liver and onions the first time my mother served them to us.
I had just gotten the pill down when I heard the doctor outside the curtain. I was proud of myself and waited for him to enter the cubicle. In he walks, carrying a basin full of hot water.
“Okay,” he said, “Drop the pill into the hot water, let it dissolve and soak your foot for a while.”
Swallowing that pill didn’t help and I bet that soaking my foot wouldn’t have helped either.
Keep your fork