Well, we’ve all got these teeny tiny (well, some aren't so tiny) sesamoid bones in strategic places in our bodies (the patella, your knee cap, is the largest one); and the two in my foot (the left foot to be exact) were inflamed, and hurt like the dickens ("dickens" are little imps who put tacks in your shoes). And not only were my tiny sesamoids inflamed, my foot doc informed me that one was also "underdeveloped" (I've never been called this!); so it was tinier than normal tiny, and that's probably why it gets so irritated. (Can't blame it. If I were that small and a chunky Korean lady was always stepping on me...alright, alright.) Anyway, yesterday in anatomy class, we’re getting the long lecture on bones from Dr. John, including the function of the patella, how it’s a sesamoid, etc., and that other than the patella, we don’t really need to know about the other sesamoids; which is about when I wanted to scream out in class, “Oh yeah, but what if you get sesamoiditis!?” But I didn’t, because it's rough to interrupt Dr. John’s zillion-mile-a-minute delivery, and be subject to his “Is this a smart question or a dumb question?" look. So anyway, how did I get this condition that sounds like I picked up a pathogen from the Cookie Monster? "Sesamoiditis is often caused by doing the same types of toe movements over and over again, which happens in activities like running and dancing."
Well, I can’t run to save my life and I haven’t been in tap shoes lately (ever). Must be all the keyboarding I do with my toes...Nope, I got it from going BAREFOOT for ten years doing, you guessed it—martial arts—and from numerous step classes at the Park District the year before. Any way, Dr. Rechkemmer, my foot doctor (I first thought her name was "Wreck-hammer" *), fixed me up with therapy (wonderful foot massages twice a week for 2 months), exercises, orthotics, and then finally the dreaded needle—a looong needle inserted from the top of my foot down (no anesthesia) to the tendon surrounding that little sesamoid culprit, to inject the curative serum, cortisone. She didn’t use ultra sound to guide the needle; heck, she didn’t even have a mirror under my foot just in case the needle came out too far. I asked her, “So how do you know you hit the right spot?” Lots of practice, she said. Well, I was pain-free in one day. And that’s why I love her. So because of my great respect for her work, I wouldn’t want her ever to know I was doing a step class again, especially when she TOLD ME that step classes are THE WORST thing for your feet--the ultimate EVIL. (Why are all the bad things so much fun?) And since my foot felt soooo good, I thought, I can do this. But alas, I am wrong. It hurts again—and only after 4 once-a-week classes. I am devastated. No more mambo moves, jazz steps, spins and kicks to obnoxiously loud rap music (so yes, I guess I was 'dancing'). I woke up this morning, and I literally had to talk myself out of going to class. (Also, seeing that it was 5 degrees outside solidified my resolve.) So I’m going to take care of my teensy-weensy bone, and hope and pray Sesa B. deMoid doesn’t get sick again (I was recovering so long, Kev gave the little bone a name.) Also, I’d hate to face the crushing wrecking-ball of the doctor’s ire.
(*She in the running for my Doctors' Hall of Names fame—my favorite being the OB for Matt’s C-sec birth—Dr. Butcher.)
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