Apparently, bunions are genetic.
I knew it had to happen. Eventually, my past would catch up with me. My mom’s dad, my mom, my sister, me. Probably my daughter. All of us have the same feet. And here I am once again, recovering from foot surgery – this time for bunions and a hammertoe correction. Might as well do everything at once.
There’s never a good time. Life will always get in the way. But the benefits of doing it now, while I’m relatively young (pick your definition of “young”), are obvious in the recovery phase. Tomorrow marks the second week; I’m doing pretty well. The surgery went to plan, my husband took care of me, essentially bed-bound for the first ten days, and even my kids helped out by ferrying ice and water to my bed when needed. I even got work to agree to convalescent leave.
Broken bones never heal pain-free. I was on a lot of meds at the beginning, including oxycodone. Although effective, it made me feel funny and threatened to give me constipation (I had “poo pills” to combat this), so I weaned myself off it pretty quickly. I learned how to manipulate myself around on crutches, by butt-scooting (down the stairs), and on my knee scooter. I’ve been hopping on my right leg a lot. I’ve had some shooting pains, some residual numbness, and sensitive skin. I still can’t take a shower. The hardest part is, yes, losing the function of one foot (leg), but also not being able to carry things when I’m on crutches. I’ve taken to wearing a backpack to help out. Adapt and overcome.
For all that’s gone well, it’s still been really hard. My husband has gone back to the UK for his final (fingers crossed) step: the green card interview. Sixteen months of stress and this unpredictable administration and I’m just hoping we’re not missing anything. Single-parenting is hard as it is, and I’ve been through more days alone than I care to write about, but doing so while recovering from bunion surgery is even harder. Last night was a messy testament to that: kids loopy at night and not listening, me screaming at them to not scream, all of us tired and ready for bed. I tried to make amends where I could and a good night’s rest led me to declaring that today was a new day, a fresh start. At least my foot is starting to feel better. Do the best you can.
The one great thing about this foot surgery is how many friends and family members have called, texted, sent flowers, or baked bread (oh yes!) for me. All the kindnesses have touched my heart. It makes me realize that I have cultivated a village and the village has shown up. None more so than my husband, who not only continued work in his increasingly stressful job due to geopolitics, but who also did all the cooking, shopping, cleaning, dog-walking, kid-wrangling, and playing taxi. What is it they always say? Marry up.
I’m off work for another two weeks and my job is to heal. I’ll try to stay off it for as long as I can, but life goes on. I’ll have two more check-ups and will hopefully have my bandage off next week – hellllooooo, shower time! I’m predicting I’ll be able to wear a shoe again by week six. Back to walking normally by week eight. Ramping up running and physical training by week twelve. It’s a long road ahead, but I’m glad I did the deed. I know it’s worth it.
Captain Leatherneck 