Proof that the universe has a sense of humour

Well it was nice to wake up this morning, put the foot down and realise that they were going to be one short at work today. It seems that bit of shopping one did yesterday, ironically for little gel pads to protect those ungrateful metatarsal’s, has been repaid in full. So off to the doctor we go. And wait. And wait. And wait for a freaking hour, to which they add insult to injury in the form of a $60 fee.

He pokes, prods, asks questions, looks thoughtful and then applies pressure in a spot that literally makes one lift off the chair and utter a string of expletives. He smiles. Yes, most likely a... rattles off some obscure Latin name. We will need an ultrasound.  Looks thoughtful for a minute... applies pressure again. Are you sure there is not radiating pain down the toes when I do that? He lunges in for a third stab, which one gracefully avoids while giving him a hostile look.

So what is it, one asks, other than bloody painful? Oh it is most likely a small fibrous tumour. It will have to be removed if that is what it is. Strange how there is no radiating pain; it usually feels a bit like being electrocuted. Maybe it just hasn’t got big enough yet. Just occasionally one gets a glimpse of why his wife left him.

So off for an ultrasound one goes because the gods have a whimsical sense of humour and there was a cancellation today rendering it possible.  So one takes a seat in their foyer and waits.  And waits. And waits some more. Meanwhile getting a good idea why it is normally almost impossible to get an appointment locally... there is no staff. Eventually a charming man comes out and one trots dutifully after him.  

When one has hopped up on the bed, he asks questions and strokes and pets the metatarsal pad of the foot while slathering it in gel, and squeezes it gently making the toes pop in a very pleasant way. Honestly if that man ever needs another career... masseur, that or demonstrating to doctors how to find something without hurting the patient. He looks at his screen, pressing the equipment against the foot, squeezes thoughtfully and goes well your doctor was right.

So there we are. The upshot is one is to carry on... there is nothing else that they can do for now.  All one can do is wait. And wait. And wait some more for a hospital appointment. With the way the luck is running this will go one of two ways; this time next year one will still be waiting or one will be celebrating this Christmas with green jello... which is the worst flavour of them all and the only one they seem to serve in our local hospital.

Oh yes, and to add insult to injury the cause of this. Bloody high heels...