My foot is killing me. It’s been hurting for like a week. I chalked it up to wearing too-high, pinchy shoes that I squeeze into, despite the inevitable wobbly pain I’ll be in later. I simply don’t care though. I love the high shoes. I love that they put me at a towering 5’5” or even 5’6” if I’m lucky.
Naturally, I thought my foot was staging an uprising against the masochism in which I force it to live. So, when I felt the pinchy stab under my right foot, I simply ignored it. Just like I would a screaming toddler. Ignore it, and it’ll stop whining and leave me alone. But, it’s still hurting. And okay, so YES I’m currently wearing 4-inch wedged heels that are ADORABLE, and it’s probably not exactly “helping” the situation. But what am I supposed to do? NOT wear heels? Pshaw. Not a chance.
Finally, on Saturday afternoon, I bent down and decided to take a peek at the mysterious pain. (Why did I not take a peek right after it started hurting? I don’t know. Why does anyone not do anything?) Right there, at the exact spot of the pulsing pain, was a sliver. Deeeeeeeep in my foot. It’s almost like WALKING on it made it worse somehow. I don’t know; I’m not a doctor.
So after I spent Saturday night in 5 1/2-inch patent leather stilettos for a party (yes, despite the horrible throbbing pain), I think my injured foot finally had had enough. I went to my parent’s house on Sunday and I hesitantly mentioned the problem to my dad. I started with, “So, my foot has really been hurting for about a week now.” And he interjected with “Well, your shoes…” and before he could finish I said, “It’s NOT the shoes. I have a sliver way deep I think, and I can’t get it out.”
Unlike me, my dad IS a doctor. And he’s a pretty cool one, too. At a high school football game, Claire got hit in the head with a huge wooden toy airplane, and he stitched her up right there – WITH HER OWN HAIR. Baller! Anyway, he’s much less creative when it comes to family care, though. There are exactly 3 remedies for anything that ails you, according to my dad: Tylenol, icing the pain, and, as in the case of my foot, soaking it. Anything that requires more than that is, well, nothing requires more than that.
The most frustrating thing about it all is that He’s right. I’ve NEVER been to a doctor for anything other than a check-up. When I get the flu, I take some Tylenol, put some ice on my forehead or a heating pad on my stomach, and get through it. That exact same treatment also works for: cramps, broken toe, back pain, sprained ankle, headaches, hangovers, sliver-in-foot, and probably gingivitis for all anyone knows. The point is: I’m going to go ahead and trust my dad on this one. So I spent the night “soaking” my foot in the hopes that the sliver shimmies its way out of my achin’ foot. There was no shimmying. None. Impatient, I performed my own version of surgery, despite my dad's warning that "the treatment should not be worse than the injury". People? It didn't go very well.
Well, what do I do now? Hopefully I didn't give myself tetanus or something. I'm pretty sure I'm not up to date on that shot, and I don't know that applying a cold compress will help with that kind of thing.
Showing posts with label Shoes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shoes. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Sole Search
The good news is: I made it through the weekend alive. It was incredibly rejuvenating, and exhausting, being with great friends and laughing until my stomach hurt.
The bad news is, once left alone, I went ahead and fell in love. His name? Metallic Gray Stilettos (I think it‘s Dutch). Anyway, these shoes found their way into my heart this morning, and I’ve been obsessing every since. I can’t stop dreaming about outfits they’d complete, jeans they’d transform, and the adrenaline rush I got holding them in my hands. But, like many summer romances, that rush had to end. I wore them around the store, with my dirty red pants cuffed up to my knees, and I knew the second I looked at the price tag, this was but a fling.
I’m not the kind of girl who spends ridiculous amounts of money on shoes. I’m pretty sure I’ll never own a pair of Christian Louboutins. I can’t afford that kind of love. But I’ll salivate over the Gucci heels Victoria Beckham wears, and secretly kiss the Jimmy Choos featured in Vogue. I mean, they are positively tasty.
Guys may not appreciate the love a girl has for the leathery deliciousness wrapped around a foot. Last summer, I asked Geo to bring me a pair of shoes at work when we were on our way to a party. I specifically said “the black heels, with the little braid-y thing up the foot.” He showed up with a bag of 4 different pairs of black heels, with little braid-y things up the foot. He was astonished. “How could you have 4 pairs of shoes that are identical?” I was shocked. They were NOT identical. One pair has a strap around the ankle that I only wear with pants, another has an extremely skinny heel that only works when worn for very short periods of time, then there’s the patent leather pair, and finally the ones with tiny silver accents. See? Tooooootally different.
The guys I know have a similar relationship with their baseball hats, for example. You don’t have to explain it to me guys, I know. Each gnarly baseball hat serves a different purpose. One has the best fit, another is your favorite color, another your favorite team, and another one that’s just funny. I’ve known guys who actually have a “formal” baseball hat. The point is, I have zero baseball hats. I don’t see why you need 12 different hats, but hey, that’s just how you roll. I get it.
I’m ridiculous, I know. I’m still pining for the pair of Marc Jacobs Mary Jane’s (that’s a style of shoe, guys. Strap across the top of the foot. Very Catholic-schooly) that I found on CLEARANCE for almost HALF of what they were worth last year, and didn‘t buy them because I was trying to be “responsible“ with money. But oh my God. Perfect height heel, perfect patent leather black, and only one size left. Size 6. MY SIZE. I am obsessed with my shoe size. It’s display shoe size. That’s amazing. I’m not “display size” in anything. But with shoes, I can walk around any store and slip into any shoe I’d like. My shoe size never changes. I don’t have “fat foot days”, my feet are the most reliable thing about me. It’s so easy to find shoes that look cute on small feet, too.
But back to these shoes. If you didn’t know, gray is the new neutral. I mean, I can pretty much wear them with anything. It would almost be irresponsible NOT to buy them. But I’m giving myself 24 hours to decide. I’m going to take the time to weigh the options of paying my phone bill or buying a pair of shoes. Just don’t be surprised if you try and call me later this month and you can’t get through.
The bad news is, once left alone, I went ahead and fell in love. His name? Metallic Gray Stilettos (I think it‘s Dutch). Anyway, these shoes found their way into my heart this morning, and I’ve been obsessing every since. I can’t stop dreaming about outfits they’d complete, jeans they’d transform, and the adrenaline rush I got holding them in my hands. But, like many summer romances, that rush had to end. I wore them around the store, with my dirty red pants cuffed up to my knees, and I knew the second I looked at the price tag, this was but a fling.
I’m not the kind of girl who spends ridiculous amounts of money on shoes. I’m pretty sure I’ll never own a pair of Christian Louboutins. I can’t afford that kind of love. But I’ll salivate over the Gucci heels Victoria Beckham wears, and secretly kiss the Jimmy Choos featured in Vogue. I mean, they are positively tasty.
Guys may not appreciate the love a girl has for the leathery deliciousness wrapped around a foot. Last summer, I asked Geo to bring me a pair of shoes at work when we were on our way to a party. I specifically said “the black heels, with the little braid-y thing up the foot.” He showed up with a bag of 4 different pairs of black heels, with little braid-y things up the foot. He was astonished. “How could you have 4 pairs of shoes that are identical?” I was shocked. They were NOT identical. One pair has a strap around the ankle that I only wear with pants, another has an extremely skinny heel that only works when worn for very short periods of time, then there’s the patent leather pair, and finally the ones with tiny silver accents. See? Tooooootally different.
The guys I know have a similar relationship with their baseball hats, for example. You don’t have to explain it to me guys, I know. Each gnarly baseball hat serves a different purpose. One has the best fit, another is your favorite color, another your favorite team, and another one that’s just funny. I’ve known guys who actually have a “formal” baseball hat. The point is, I have zero baseball hats. I don’t see why you need 12 different hats, but hey, that’s just how you roll. I get it.
I’m ridiculous, I know. I’m still pining for the pair of Marc Jacobs Mary Jane’s (that’s a style of shoe, guys. Strap across the top of the foot. Very Catholic-schooly) that I found on CLEARANCE for almost HALF of what they were worth last year, and didn‘t buy them because I was trying to be “responsible“ with money. But oh my God. Perfect height heel, perfect patent leather black, and only one size left. Size 6. MY SIZE. I am obsessed with my shoe size. It’s display shoe size. That’s amazing. I’m not “display size” in anything. But with shoes, I can walk around any store and slip into any shoe I’d like. My shoe size never changes. I don’t have “fat foot days”, my feet are the most reliable thing about me. It’s so easy to find shoes that look cute on small feet, too.
But back to these shoes. If you didn’t know, gray is the new neutral. I mean, I can pretty much wear them with anything. It would almost be irresponsible NOT to buy them. But I’m giving myself 24 hours to decide. I’m going to take the time to weigh the options of paying my phone bill or buying a pair of shoes. Just don’t be surprised if you try and call me later this month and you can’t get through.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Baby Got Back (Pain)
"You are saying the change has to first occur in the brain?"
Great googly-moogly, people. The above quote is in an article attempting to explain lower back pain. That’s right. Back Pain. I clicked through to the article because my stupid back hurts again, and I thought I’d find some helpful hints in the article called “Low Back Pain: Is It Really All In Your Head?” I was, of course, expecting the answer to this rhetorical question to be “OF COURSE NOT, YOU POOR SUFFERING SOUL!” But no, no, no. That was not the case.
Blah, blah, blah, the article was all “the suffering starts in your head because that’s where movement begins: in the brain” or some such way of complicating the fact that your brain controls your body. If you don’t already know that, I don’t know how to talk to you.
I find both great enjoyment and frustration in articles like this. On the one hand, sometimes these articles provide very helpful information (make gentler movements). On the other hand, there’s a lot of jargony nonsense that can suffocate the factual text and confuse readers (said example of it being in your head).
I don’t know if any of you has back pain, but mine started in high school and randomly and angrily flares up without warning. Sure, the lifting of heavy boxes and walking a couple miles every day in high heel wedges may not help, but I’m certain the pain existed long before any of these other things happened. It’s a back spasm that shakes me into a contorted position for a few seconds, and is followed by anywhere from an hour to 5 days of soreness.
But enough about me. Back (ha!) to the articles. More and more people are visiting websites for help and treatment of pain. You just can’t visit the doctor every time something comes up, though, right? Sometimes, one must Google. But I’m scared for people who don’t take the time to rummage through all the prosaic babbling to get to the proverbial meat of the matter. For instance, Web MD’ing “dark bruise” suggests that I may have rectal problems. What? No, try again, website. Mongolian Spots? Nope. In this case, I’m guessing it’s best to rely on our own brain. (Then again, can I trust my brain? I mean, it may be the thing that’s responsible for my back pain, after all.) It takes a bit of thinking. “This deep dark bruise on my thigh has been there for a few days now. Hmmm. Maybe it has something to do with repeatedly running into the corner of the dining room table whenever I sprint into the kitchen for a slice of cheese.” Guess what, Contestant! You’ve won a million dollars.
Don’t get me wrong, though, I’m all for healing yourself in the best way possible. If it’s medication, meditation, or ignorance, I say go with what works for you. I’ve always been fascinated by the ways in which people diagnose and heal themselves. When I was very young, my parents gave me the Mayo Clinic Family Health book. It was chock full of diseases and pictures. My favorite? Hairy Tongue. Yeah, that one’s a doozy. But the language is so methodical and technical, I trusted it. There was no suggestion that any physical disfigurement may simply be due to the way I think. It was just the facts. And it was a great relief to know that I wasn’t suffering from internal bleeding. (I used to think, “How would I ever know if I was bleeding INSIDE?! I can’t see in there!” Thanks to the book, though, I realized it is highly unlikely that there would be no physical manifestation of said bleeding. Case closed.)
None of this helps me with my back, though. I don’t want to visit a doctor; it’s a recurring pain that I can handle. Googling “back pain” is useless, as there are too many causes and treatments for me to sort through. And I definitely won’t stop wearing high heels. I don’t know. I guess I’ll just request a new chair from HR and hope that fixes it. And if that doesn’t work, maybe I’ll head into a clinic for a lobotomy and get the masochistic part of my brain that is causing my own pain removed.
Great googly-moogly, people. The above quote is in an article attempting to explain lower back pain. That’s right. Back Pain. I clicked through to the article because my stupid back hurts again, and I thought I’d find some helpful hints in the article called “Low Back Pain: Is It Really All In Your Head?” I was, of course, expecting the answer to this rhetorical question to be “OF COURSE NOT, YOU POOR SUFFERING SOUL!” But no, no, no. That was not the case.
Blah, blah, blah, the article was all “the suffering starts in your head because that’s where movement begins: in the brain” or some such way of complicating the fact that your brain controls your body. If you don’t already know that, I don’t know how to talk to you.
I find both great enjoyment and frustration in articles like this. On the one hand, sometimes these articles provide very helpful information (make gentler movements). On the other hand, there’s a lot of jargony nonsense that can suffocate the factual text and confuse readers (said example of it being in your head).
I don’t know if any of you has back pain, but mine started in high school and randomly and angrily flares up without warning. Sure, the lifting of heavy boxes and walking a couple miles every day in high heel wedges may not help, but I’m certain the pain existed long before any of these other things happened. It’s a back spasm that shakes me into a contorted position for a few seconds, and is followed by anywhere from an hour to 5 days of soreness.
But enough about me. Back (ha!) to the articles. More and more people are visiting websites for help and treatment of pain. You just can’t visit the doctor every time something comes up, though, right? Sometimes, one must Google. But I’m scared for people who don’t take the time to rummage through all the prosaic babbling to get to the proverbial meat of the matter. For instance, Web MD’ing “dark bruise” suggests that I may have rectal problems. What? No, try again, website. Mongolian Spots? Nope. In this case, I’m guessing it’s best to rely on our own brain. (Then again, can I trust my brain? I mean, it may be the thing that’s responsible for my back pain, after all.) It takes a bit of thinking. “This deep dark bruise on my thigh has been there for a few days now. Hmmm. Maybe it has something to do with repeatedly running into the corner of the dining room table whenever I sprint into the kitchen for a slice of cheese.” Guess what, Contestant! You’ve won a million dollars.
Don’t get me wrong, though, I’m all for healing yourself in the best way possible. If it’s medication, meditation, or ignorance, I say go with what works for you. I’ve always been fascinated by the ways in which people diagnose and heal themselves. When I was very young, my parents gave me the Mayo Clinic Family Health book. It was chock full of diseases and pictures. My favorite? Hairy Tongue. Yeah, that one’s a doozy. But the language is so methodical and technical, I trusted it. There was no suggestion that any physical disfigurement may simply be due to the way I think. It was just the facts. And it was a great relief to know that I wasn’t suffering from internal bleeding. (I used to think, “How would I ever know if I was bleeding INSIDE?! I can’t see in there!” Thanks to the book, though, I realized it is highly unlikely that there would be no physical manifestation of said bleeding. Case closed.)
None of this helps me with my back, though. I don’t want to visit a doctor; it’s a recurring pain that I can handle. Googling “back pain” is useless, as there are too many causes and treatments for me to sort through. And I definitely won’t stop wearing high heels. I don’t know. I guess I’ll just request a new chair from HR and hope that fixes it. And if that doesn’t work, maybe I’ll head into a clinic for a lobotomy and get the masochistic part of my brain that is causing my own pain removed.
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