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May 2010
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August 2010

these boots were made for walking.

IMG_0413 The older I get, the more I realize that I am falling apart. My breasts continue to point to Mexico (not Canada, like they are supposed to), the hair on my head is not as thick as it used to be, my L4-L5 has a disc herniation, and recently my left foot has been in so much pain that I thought I broke it. Doing absolutely nothing. Turns out I have Achilles tendonitis, an ailment one might get by EXERCISING. Leave it to me to be the exception that proves the rule.

I found myself a podiatrist and she quickly diagnosed my pain by MOLESTING my foot. She looked at my left foot and felt it up. It was more of an intimate experience than when I visit my gynecologist or get wined and dined by my husband. I suppose one of my body parts should get some action lately. I'm certainly not feeling very amorous while in pain. In any case, she injected my heel with steroids and sent me on my way with a walking boot to immobilize the tendon.

My foot feels so much better now except for when I bang it against something. Like another person. My hubby dragged me out to breakfast this past Saturday and the waiter kept kicking my damn boot. It was okay the first time, but after the third, I have come to the conclusion that he was kicking me on purpose. The bastard hated me.

This is not the first time I hurt my left foot. As was every 8th grade girl's dream, I thought I would become a Solid Gold Dancer. I twirled and jumped and quickly sprained my foot. I was in crutches for a few weeks which wouldn't have been so bad if my parents didn't continue to make me walk to school. Big ass backpack filled with nerdy books plus an ace wrapped foot. No sympathy at all. Hrmph. The second time was 10 years ago when I went back home to the Philippines. I was taking photographs as every good scrapbooker should and twisted my left foot. My father tried getting me crutches so that I could get around, but the Philippines is not like the US. You just can't buy new crutches at the store. He went to the neighborhood market and found two mismatched, used crutches next to the hanging dead chickens. I thought I was going to kill myself. I was in pain and I wanted my father to ship me back home in a balikbayan box. I did not care anymore and neither did my parents. If they had to drag me around the jungle, that's what they were going to do. No sympathy at all. They found me a broke ass wheelchair instead. Which was fine except my brothers thought it would be funny to push me down a hill, laugh, and point. What I would have given to get the chance to kick their testicles with my gimp foot. After hobbling two weeks in my native homeland, we finally went home. I got an xray because of the continued pain and found out that I actually fractured the darn thing.

And now, here we are again with my left foot, except unlike the movie, it's the only thing I cannot move.