I think I am falling apart. Last week I was diagnosed with the Shingles for the third time. That’s right. Three times. Perhaps it will be like baseball and the Shingles virus will have been struck out—way out of my body. As usual, my symptoms were atypical, so atypical it took visits to two dentists (who thankfully refused to pull out all my upper teeth to relieve the pain), and two doctors until the verdict was pronounced. The medicine is working—a sure sign the fourth professional made the correct diagnose, which was hard because the rash was not in plain sight. It was hiding in my mouth, out of plain sight even to me.
With the pain in my head decreasing daily, today I went back to the foot doctor to find out why my toes still felt numb.
“Your shoe is too confining,” the doctor told me. “That’s why the toes aren’t healing.”
“But you told me I had to keep my sneakers on all day in order for my heal to heal,” I responded in a most confused voice.
I have a heal spur on one foot and some sort of cyst between the toes of the other foot that needs plenty of space—no squishing of toes like sneakers do—to go away.
Could someone—anyone—please tell me how I’m to go on my upcoming, long-awaited vacation by wearing a sneaker on one foot and sandal on the other? Am I to tell the gawkers that it’s a new style created in South Florida?
On the up side, even though my shoe-style is laughable, my illnesses are curable.
I’ll be away from my computer for a week or two for all good things. I’ll keep you posted as soon as I can. Be well, and remember, my book Retired, Not Expired will be read sooner than I think!
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