There was an episode of "Happy Days" back in the 70s where Fonzie took a job driving an ice cream truck. Richie asks Fonzie how the job is going and Fonzie replies, "Man it's frustrating. I get the truck up to 70mph and I havta stop for some kid wavin' a dime!" That's kind of how I feel.
It seems I grow bones in places they don't belong. It started in my knee when I was 44 - they called it a 'Loose Body," which, to me, conjures up all kinds of pictures - none of which have to do with the 1 cm bone fragment that grew between the bones that make up the knee rendering me unable to walk. A simple surgery later, a little physical therapy and I was back to normal.
Normal is a relative term. Same leg, different joint. When I was 46, my Achilles tendon, like a fraying rope, began to unravel as it rubbed against a bone the began growing out of the back of my heel. A not so simple surgery later that involved shaving bones, releasing and re-attaching my achilles with fancy hardware and 3 months of crutches, and an extended relationship with my very handsome physical therapist and I was on my way back to normal.
I just turned 49. I now understand that "normal" means to expect another bone to grow. And it has. This time between the joints that connect my ankle to my foot. My MO is to allow it to annoy me, push through the pain and wait for it to become unbearable. It became unbearable the day I decided to run across the highway before the next wave of traffic barreled through - the unbearable part occurring when I was about half way across.
The solution? Another lovely surgery, 3 weeks no weight bearing, casted. I need to go dig out my crutches. . .again.
On the upside, I get to go visit my favorite physical therapist. He will be happy to see me, he will massage my feet, and I might even develop another crush on him, unless he has finally gotten that restraining order against me.
Then, back to normal.