The Foot (Pt. 5): REALLY THE END

Before I left England, I had one more appointment with my UEA doctor about my foot. He was concerned that it wasn't feeling better just because I bought a new pair of sneakers (pffft), so he thought I should have some blood tests to make sure it wasn't gout (that again) or arthritis, even though he didn't actually think the problem was because either of those things. I told him politely that my mom made an appointment with an orthopedist in America, since I was going home in like a week. He didn't think an orthopedist was what I needed--he wanted me to see a rheumatologist, for christ's sake.

So. Upon returning home, I had an appointment with my brother's orthopedist. First appointment, right after going into the exam room, they gave me an x-ray, something they wouldn't do for me in England. The x-ray was inconclusive, so they booked me for an MRI two days later. I had the MRI, they gave me the images on CD. I'm sure as hell glad doctors go to school for so many years, because the images looked more like pieces of raw meat than pictures of a foot (though there was a suspicious black square underneath my big toe...I don't think that's the fracture, because that's tiny, but it did give me pause). Today, I had an appointment back with the orthopedist to "discuss" the MRI results. Given the way things have gone with this whole foot thing, I expected nothing to come up on the MRI and to be back at square one.

The doctor walked in the room and asked me how the foot was as he crossed the threshold. I said it was about the same. In one swoop, he grabbed my foot, stuck his finger in the bottom of it, made me scream, and said "yeah, it's broken. It's been broken for four months."

CHRIST, NHS. YOU COULDN'T GIVE ME AN MRI?

They put me in a purple beast of a cast for 2 weeks. Two days before I leave for England again, they're going to take it off (since it's a pain to fly with casts: you have to get your foot x-rayed and checked to make sure there aren't bombs in it or anything), and give me a plastic aircast...which I'll have to wear for at least two months, maybe three. But at least that one I'll be able to take off to shower and sleep. This purple one, on the other hand...I can barely walk at all. Good thing we went to NYC yesterday...at least I went out of walking with a bang. Now I'm just missing all the skinny jeans and leggings I can't wear for three months, and I left almost all my flare jeans back in England. Priceless. I guess the remainder of my break is going to be close to entirely sedentary. At least I can drive: it's my left leg that's encased in purple fiberglass. If it was my right that was bothering me, I would have asked them to delay putting on the cast until right before I leave for England so I could still drive myself around.