Final comments on my fasciitis

It's been a week since I had that horrendous injection to rid myself of a very painful condition --inflammation of the fascia tendon that runs along the bottom of the foot, heel to that expanse of foot we call the ball. Stress it and you'll see --or feel--what I mean! Excruciating pain so intense a person cannot walk on it!

I tried a celestone shot (hip shot), physical therapy, a foot orthodic, massage, crutches--each helped, except the crutches, and even all together, I still limped along with pain.

It's time--so I got the shot--yeah, the one with a needle going straight into the heel. As soon as the doctor came into the little room, I started crying from anticipation. EVERYONE, including that doctor, warned me how painful that needle is! Then I started sobbing--I was so fearful!

He injected my foot. YES, the pain was so bad that I actually screamed. The scream was already out before I could do anything to stifle it. I apologized and the nurse tried to make me feel better: "You're not the first to scream!"

Did that shot work? Yes, almost immediately the pain lessened (but did not disappear). It's been a week and I made it through Book Fair, but went home every night with excruciating pain, which lessened after I put my feet up and gave them a rest.

Here's my advice: Get the shot. Don't wait! I could have had relief a week earlier! The pain is real but lasts--what?--maybe three seconds. It was over in scarcely the time I had to scream. I'll know (if there's a next time) not to wait. Pain relief is good even if it takes pain to get that relief!

Update on my fasciitis

It's been over a month since I awoke that awful Saturday morning and could not put weight on my right foot. Later at the local quick care clinic, I discovered I had the dreaded, terrible planter fasciitis (I have stopped saying "planter," because, inevitably, people think I have warts on the bottom of my foot. Of course, that comes from NOT knowing about the word "planter" that is followed by the word "fasciitis." Even this computer doesn't know the term--it underlined it to tell me I had misspelled it. Alas, I haven't.)

So what about my update? I had some choices for treatment when I did go to an orthopedic doctor: a shot right smack in the middle of the pain and physical therapy. The doctor told me I would have faster relief, maybe immediately, with a shot. But wait, he said, there's a kicker: the shot is VERY painful. Well, yeah, I thought, a shot in that meaty part of the foot. I would think so. Of course, I went with physical therapy.

My therapist was such a darling, delightful young man. Ah, too bad I'm an old lady. Oh yes, pardon me. The therapy. Heat wraps, painful exercises, deep laser treatment, and, oh joy--deep tissue massage. It was very painful, but the relief was wonderful. He also taught me exercises to do at home to strengthen and stretch that ol' fasciitis.

That bottom of the foot tendon that is connected to the well-known Achilles tendon screams with pain when it has been strained and abused. Runners of all ages often learn of this condition and anyone who repetitively stresses the foot. I had been limping from the pain of an old injury with my left foot, thus placing undue stress on the right. Thus, that awful Saturday morning.

Physical therapy didn't work fast enough for me. The pain remained, not that original searing, sharp needles pain, but enough that walking on that foot was terrible.

That brings me to the needle, that two-inch long needle filled with--hopefully--relief. In the little room the nurse kept telling me that it was a painful shot. Yes, I've been told. EVERYONE I talked to who had had the shot warned me, but the relief was worth it. OK, let's see.

EVERYTHING anyone had told me, warned me about is absolutely true! The pain was hideous.  I cried. I actually felt myself scream. I sobbed. What a whiny baby I was! Actually, I think my horror was more anticipation than actuality. No, the pain is awful.

Yes, I did get immediate relief, then that thudding pain returned. Also, a heel injected by a long needle does become deeply tender. Is the pain gone? Not quite yet--

Farmer's Market

I found out late in the game that I could sell my crafts in our local Farmers Market. So I applied, was accepted, and participated the last two Saturdays. Last Saturday, Sept. 3 was the last day untill the fall season begins.

It is quite different being a strolling buyer and a stationary vendor. The buyer can shuffle along, glancing to and fro, stopping just where the eye, the interest, and whim takes her. The vendor has the advantage of meeting a variety of people who come to his/her booth.

In between customers I watched all the people around me, both vendors and shoppers. Here is my list:

1. Many friends, male and female, made it a twosome to shop, just look, or actually buy something.

2. People who attend Farmers Martet go, intending to spend money

3.People liked my items and told me so. I even sold a few things, enough to make it worth my time.

4. There are two kinds of marriages, whether the couples are old or young. One type walks apart, never touching, rarely speaking. Sometimes the husband walked ahead, sometimes the wife. I was saddened by most of them. The other kind held hands or leaned into each other, chatting, stopping together, looking at merchandise together. Most of the happy couples still had separate money. Cool. Sometimes the wife had to ask permission to buy; only one man did and his wife coldly told him no.

5. What was available for sale? All those vegetables and fruits, to be sure: tomatoes, red potatoes, onions, eggplant, purple, green, and white, squash, zucchini, okra, peas, beans, peppers of various colors, and so on. Jellies, jams, preserves galore, breads of all kinds. Specialty ethnic foods: Italian sausage, Turkish foods, Lebanese foods, Indian curries, Mexican burritos, coffee drinks, Louisiana wine. Then vendors like me: I have totes, wall hangings, purses, toy bags, stuffed cats, pillow cases. Other vendors have little girls' dresses, play outfits, nightgowns, pajamas. Birdhouses with fabric for outer wall decorations. Beef, pork, and chicken, home raised, frozen for sale, and a brochure explaining the benefits of grass-fed animals for food.

6. The remarkable thing about Farmers Market is the individual expression of hard work, creativity, tenacity, and the American Dream of success in these individual endeavors. I felt privileged to be among these people.

It was a great day! I'm looking forward to Fall Market, beginning in October!

Beware--planter fasciitis

When I was 30 years old, I played tennis with some college kids, 18, 19 years old. I had always been agile. After a game I jumped over the tennis net. No big whoop until that awful day. I jumped--no problem, but when I landed, I landed, bam, on my heel bone, the left heel. That was the most extraordinary pain--extraordinary as in horrific, torturous, terrible. Someone took me to the emergency room. The way the x-ray was taken showed a sprain only--no heel damage. Would it have made a difference if the doctor had known my heel bone, that tip of the skeleton, had been crushed one-half an inch? Well, of course, I'll never know.

I went to Europe three months later, still in pain, and still on crutches. I managed luggage and carrying all my own personal items. Age, I was young, independent and capable. I could get around on those crutches better than most people on foot.

Summer was over, school started, and the football coach demanded to know why I was still on crutches. "Get a shot," he told me. Cortisone. I did and began walking the next day. That's when I learned the magic of cortisone, but that's another story.

My body had to learn to re-align itself to the new dynamics of one leg one-half inch shorter. Believe me, there is a difference. The use of monthly feminine products became painful--new alignment. Even intimacy became painful until my body adjusted.

The year went by with periodic flare-ups of heel pain. During these flare-ups, I learned that I had cracked another bone on the side of the same foot playing basketball a few years before the tennis episode. I knew it was painfully sprained, but a new x-ray showed a slight realignment where that crack was.

Soooo--this past spring, both injuries, done so long ago, declared war on my aging body. I limped painfully for weeks, through cortisone shots, through pain medicine. Painfully. Then one Saturday morning I awoke to a new raging pain in the heel of my right foot. What??!! My right foot?! Could not be. No, no! How will I walk if BOTH feet are in pain? I could not walk on that right foot--literally, I had to crawl. I massaged, rubbed on arthritis gel, cried, but nothing worked. I managed to get myself to a clinic where I learned about the terrible planter fasciitis. A terrible thing.

I keep thinking about early humans. What was it like to develop this condition if there are no clinics, no doctors, no medication, nothing? What did they do? Through the centuries, right up to today. Why do I ask? Because there is no surgery, no relief, except time. Yes, I can go to physical therapy, which is absolutely wonderful for what?--a few hours? Gotta work. Means gotta walk. Back to square one. Pain.

So, what is planter fasciitis? I'll start with what it is not. It is not planter's warts. People have heard of that condition--it's totally different. "Planter" means "bottom of the foot," and that's the only thing the two conditions have in common. Warts are on the bottom of the foot, or planter. The fascia is a thick tendon that connects from the Achilles tendon, which itself runs along the back of the leg--they connect at the back of the hell, the two tendons--then to the toes. The worst tear or strain or inflammation occurs in the heel. Oh, to exacerbate matters, the heelbone spins out a spur to counteract the pain of the fascia. That spur can be removed (if one wants another boatload of pain), but one must simply wait for the fascia to heal.

Again, therapy and medication are good, but so temporary. There is one more means of alleviating the pain: a horrific cortisone injection into the heel itself. I by-passed that when the orthopedist himself told me it was painful, and get this, does not help some people. I opted for physical therapy. The therapist gave me exercises to do to stretch that fascia tendon, plus ice and heat treatment.

One more thing, I saw an ad on television for an orthotics device conveniently at this time and ordered it. I've walked around the house with it and think it may help. If so, I'll come back and say what it is.

My experience with planter fasciitis confirms what my mother always told me: Time will heal all wounds. Not all, but you know what she means.

For more information, here are a couple of links about planter fasciitis:

http://www.sportsinjuryclinic.net/cybertherapist/front/foot/plantarfaciitis.htm

http://www.webmd.com/a-to-z-guides/plantar-fasciitis-topic-overview

Summer time in the library

Sometimes I just have to put on my shoes, throw a few things in the car, and drive to my school library to work a while. Something there is about a silent library in the summer when no one else is around.

What's a school library without children in it? A really quiet place! I can get probably three times as much work done in one hour when the building is deserted as when children are bop-bopping through.  When I say the building is deserted, I mean really really quiet. No one is there at all! My principal allowed me a key so I could come in the afternoons. That's when I dive into work. Know the phrase: "In another world?" That's how I feel.

But, ah, the incredible number of books I can process and automate! It's truly phenomenal! This summer I completely rejuvenated the Louisiana Collection (eighth grade must study Louisiana history) by weeding, repairing, cleaning, and adding new books. It is now neat and organized and ready for eighth grade assignments.

I found several books that I want to review and Louisiana writers that I want to celebrate. Until next time, I remain--a quiet librarian!

What? Not read a book?

What? Is it possible? Never read a book? Read, present tense, definition:  "to read or peruse written or printed matter." But what does that mean? Perhaps an answer becomes clear when we look at etymology (word source and origin).

"Origin: before 900; Middle English reden, Old English rǣdan  to counsel, read; cognate with Dutch raden, German raten, Old Norse rātha;  akin to Sanskrit rādhnoti  (he) achieves." (source: Dictionary.com)

What's most interesting to this librarian is the Sanskrit: "achieves." What does it mean to "peruse written or printed matter"? If one knows all the skills and applies them to a process of deciphering (basically, reading is deciphering), then meaning occurs. Thus: achievement.

What's the point of finding meaning? I don't know about you, but I would not find life worthwhile if I didn't learn something new, then apply or find meaning, using knowledge gained during that skill-using, deciphering that printed matter, and achieving a new level of existence.

What brought on all this musing are two separate conversations. A week ago a friend from the past called and left two frantic messages on my answering machine. "May I use you as a reference? I have to submit my application right away!" It was hours later when I returned home and this frantic call. I called immediately. My friend from the past was seeking a teaching position in the same school where I taught so long.

During the course of our conversation, I told him about my new personal reading project: Faulkner's novels from beginning to end to look for growth and change. He was so pleased as he, too, is a Faulkner fan. Then he told me his shock: He could not believe that teachers don't read, including English teachers. (He is also an English teacher, as was I.) That's right, I agreed. They don't. There is always some excuse: too many papers to grade, children to raise, husbands, church work, one thing and then another. I told him during all those years of my own lesson plans and paper grading that I always found time to read both for personal relaxation and professional growth. I didn't have to ask--I knew he is also a reader. That teachers, as a whole and generically speaking, don't read is, indeed, shocking. (I'm sorry to reveal this about my profession.)

The other day I connected through Facebook with another friend from the past, a local, public official. He called and we chatted awhile. I asked if he read (remembering my other friend's shock). He said he never reads, other than professionally--reports and such. He named his high school and said students were never required to read a book. I told him if he didn't read, his brain would dry up. He said, exactly. He knew his brain was "dried up" and laughed at himself.

So, it seems to me that, as a librarian, I should do something to keep students interested in reading. Nearly all children love books, their pictures, the pages, turning pages, holding the book. Books are treasures to them and I'm the book goddess. As they reach middle school age, first boys, then girls start dropping books and the reading process. I recommend books, keep displays out that highlight both popular books (Wimpy Kid, Underpants Boy), and lists of books. By 8th grade there are those who are done with books and I cannot convince them otherwise.

Writing this blog has determined my goal for next school year: Keeping books alive, keeping reading alive, keeping that perusal of printed matter going, and keeping brain achievement alive for the rest of their lives. 

Reading as personal pleasure. Reading to develop professionally. Reading for the joy it brings. Reading for a glimpse of human truths, both beautiful and ugly, considering their truths in order to make a difference in the world. In my personal setting (Catholic school), reading to enhance spiritual growth.

Reading is a wonder. I want to be part of a child's discovery and maintenance of this wonder. I'm looking forward to a good year!