I was driving to the doctor’s office, minding my own business, waiting at a red light when I looked in my rear view mirror. There was an old fashioned car behind me. One of those Model ___ something or others. I couldn’t see the driver. I could, however, see who was sitting in the passenger seat. Bert. As in from Sesame Street. Not some person in a suit but a life-sized Bert doll. Ernie may or may not have been in the car someplace but I didn’t see him anywhere.
Speaking of the doctor, so I was right. I do have plantar fasciitis. Am I good at the whole self-diagnosis stuff or what? I (obviously) read up on it a bit beforehand. I was surprised that I’d have it because I don’t run, I’m not on my feet a lot, I’m not really overweight… well I am but only by about 10 pounds so that doesn’t really count.
As the doctor is looking at the x-rays, she asks me if I ever damaged my foot. Uh, not that I can recall. I mean I always bang things up but unless I am in intense pain, I just ignore it so yeah, I probably did badly bang up the top of my foot at some point but have no idea when. Why was she asking?
“There’s a little piece of bone floating around up there.” Also it seems my arch has collapsed, theoretically from whatever damaged the top of my foot at some unknown time, which is putting pressure on that ligament on the bottom of my foot. Thus, the inflammation & intense pain.
I am hopeful that the cortisone injection, the icing, the Motrin, the staying off the foot and the brace I now have will mean I will be able to walk around next week when we’re at Mohegan Sun for the Boston/Styx concert. I mean hey, we can’t just go for the concert. We have to walk around a little bit and at least attempt to win a big jackpot.
Meantime if I have to spend much more time on my butt and not walking around, I’m certain to end up way more than just 10 pounds overweight. 
