Old Curling Injury

I've been complaining about pain in my left ankle for several months now. Sure, I've complained about other things. But the ankle is nearest and dearest to me.

Yesterday I went to my orthopedist for the results of my CAT scan from this past Wednesday. There is what amounts to a divot or pothole towards the top side of my talus bone. It has filled with heavy liquid, forming a cyst. When I irritate the cyst - pow - ankle pain. Bad ankle pain sometimes.

For the time being we're going to employ pain management strategies; the Doc says surgically removing the cyst and filling in the pothole/divot should only come when and if the injury begins to interfere with everyday life. It may require an ankle replacement (I didn't know that was a thing) but that's a long way off if needed at all. He did give me a light brace to wear between the ankle and my shoe when the pain is bad enough to warrant it.

So the news isn't terrible. I can make do with that treatment plan, at least for the foreseeable future. 

I asked him if the injury was always there but undiscovered until lately, or if I had done something to cause it. He explained that most such injuries occur due to a fairly constant, repetitive motion over a long period of time, "Yet I can't imagine what that could have been," he finished.

I could. I curl.

Without going into a lot of detail, as a right handed curler I put a lot of pressure on my left foot when delivering a curling stone, and I played for around 35 years. When telling the doctor that he replied, "That might well have caused it, yes, although we can't really know for sure."

Well, I'm running with it anyway. My bum ankle is the result of an old curling injury. Prove me wrong.

One Down

Three days, three medical appointments. Do I know how to live or what?

Yesterday I was in for a CAT scan of my troublesome left ankle. Today, my first colonoscopy. Oh joy, oh rapture. Thankfully it's simply for preventative purposes, another of those 'at your age' things to do. "At your age, Mr. Cosgriff, you really ought to have a colonoscopy," my doctor told me seriously this past September. I suppose he's got my best interests in mind. And I do get to moon people without repercussions.

So I honestly don't expect bad news from that. I don't expect particularly bad news about my ankle either for that matter, except that I may need minor surgery. The ankle worries me more only because when it hurts, it hurts. I'm talking about 8 on a scale of 10. It's woken me up at night. But the damn pain comes and goes out of nowhere, sometimes lasting days, other times not even 10 minutes. Even that doesn't appear to be life threatening in and of itself. It's when it comes out of nowhere, say, when I'm going down steps, that worries me. Falling down a flight of stairs can be life threatening.

I don't want to die that way. I mean, I want to get to Heaven. I pray every day that I do, but eventually. And there are enough dicey questions already that St. Peter, I'm sure, will be asking me. I don't want "Why are you here early?" to be among them.

Which leads to appointment Roman Numeral III. Friday I see the orthopedist to find out the results on my ankle. I wish I hadn't put my foot in my mouth so often over the years...

My Left Foot

Everything was going well. My doctor had the order for my foot X-rays ready when I arrived at his office. There was no one in front of me at the X-ray station at the hospital next door. Yesterday was proceeding rather smoothly indeed.

Then I had to get the actual X-rays.

I did not know that my foot could get into the positions the technician put it into. Neither did the rest of me. As I sat up on the table and he twisted my left foot outward, a complete chain reaction was caused along my entire body. I had to turn myself against my left hip, stretch my leg out, and hold my torso up with my hands behind my back (otherwise he would not have gotten the right angle). It was as if I were playing solo Twister while gamma rays were being fired into my body. 

"Hold perfectly still," the technician told me sternly.

I laugh. Ha, ha! Surely you jest.

That's when I got the Mr. Spock raised eyebrow. The X-ray tech did not, in fact, jest.

Fortunately that was the worst of the five X-rays taken, although the other four had their own special levels of discomfort. I appreciated getting that first one out of the way though. 

The damn thing is that through all the twisting and turning and hold still-ing, my ankle didn't hurt at all. Not one bit. I could hardly walk on Thursday (which prompted my call to the doctor who ordered the X-rays). Foot pain has been an issue for me off and on for at least a year, foot and ankle pain so bad I could barely hobble around at times. But as it's becoming more on than off, it was high time to do something about it, right? Yet I had no pain at all while enduring the procedures. I walked out of the hospital just fine after hobbling in. 

Of course, when I stepped out of my new old van on returning home, I nearly went down in a heap. So it goes.

My doctor will have the X-rays Tuesday, so hopefully I'll have reasonably good news then. I fully expect the diagnosis to be COVID though.

Sorry. I couldn't resist that.