Planting Fascists

So my feet have been hurting. I don’t mean in the sense of, “Oh wow, my dogs are really barking. I better take these shoes off and put my feet up when I get home. Ahhh, that’s better.”
It’s more like, “Oh my god, I’m the evil queen from Snow White and someone has put piping hot iron shoes on my feet,” kind of pain that keeps you up at night, makes you cry in your car on your lunch break, and turns you into a raging pain monster.


This is what happened to Snow White’s Evil Queen in the original fairy tale. Seems legit.

This began about two weeks ago when I started a new job. The job itself isn’t so bad, it’s just that it’s 11 hours a day, 6 days a week, and on concrete flooring. You don’t just stand there, thank the gods, but you are constantly walking and pounding that concrete.

Enter my completely flat feet. I mean completely. They actually make suction fart noises when I walk barefoot across linoleum. Yes, they are totally flat.
Why have I never gotten help for them before? It may or may not have something to do with my “Suck it up, buttercup” attitude. May. May .. not. Anywhoo, now I have to get help.

Help for my feet. Yes, I probably need the other kind of help as well, but one thing at a time.

'We've spent considerable time on it now. Isn't there anything bothering you besides your feet?'

‘We’ve spent considerable time on it now. Isn’t there anything bothering you besides your feet?’

I finally broke down after having to take two days off of work and went to the doctor’s office.
She listened to my symptoms, made me take my shoes off so she could feel my feet (a brave woman), and then said, “Yup, plantar fasciitis.”
“Plantar fash-what-is?”

So basically, my feet are taking root to turn me into a Fascist. Oh. That’s not what it means. Oh, tendons. Right. I totally knew that.

She explained what causes it and showed me how the foot moves with one of those foot model thingies and lots of pictures, because going to the doctor is like reverting back to Kindergarten. Must have visual aids!

Every word she spoke was like an, “Oh my God!” moment in my head. “Yes!” I would shout as I pointed at the picture or the model. “That is exactly what’s been going on!” It was so relieving to know there was something wrong that could be fixed/managed, and that it wasn’t just me being a big wuss.

So, a prescription of Ibuprofen, directions on stretches and ice packs, and some fancy-shmancy insoles later.. I am feeling pretty good about this whole thing. I won’t have to quit my job, afterall!

Ah, there is a catch. One minor hitch, really. It’s like it doesn’t even exist it’s just small..


Just a token, really. A trifle.

If the swelling doesn’t go down (right now my arches are actually sticking out of the soles of my feet) then I have to go back and get a steroid shot.. in my arches.

So, the one thing on my body that is causing copious amounts of pain will be made to feel better by sticking a needle in it.


She wanted to do it then and there, but I said, “No,” as I walked out the exam room and to the “check out” area.

No. No. No.

Please God No.

At any rate, I’m feeling pretty comfortable with the knowledge that this thing can be managed. I might have to get my ass to a Podiatrist and get some of those ridiculously expensive orthotic shoes in the near future.. maybe it can be my Christmas present. Sigh. Welcome to adult hood.

At least my feet won’t hurt anymore. Now, pass that ice pack.