(I write this from 30,000 feet in the air, en route to Los Angeles for a conference. Isn’t technology grand?)
I had never had an MRI before. And it’s in these cases that my scientific mind simultaneously irks me and saves me. Scientifically I know what’s going on – super magnets and rotating coils and coronal views and axial views of my foot.
But sometimes science divests itself from emotion. I knew an MRI wouldn’t hurt, thankfully, but the loud noises still do catch you off guard. I was offered a choice of music in my clunky headphones. I chose classical because it relaxes me; I should have chosen something a lot louder.
I received a call from the sports medicine doctor even before the day was over, requesting for me to come in the next day. Normally I celebrate easy access to appointment times, but this gave me an inane sense of worry. There is either something seriously wrong, OR it’s nothing and they want to assuage my fears.
Long story short, I had massive inflammation between the 4th and 5th metatarsal. Which is exactly where it hurts. Go science. My treatment? Massive doses of prednisone, followed by massive doses of naproxen, and a massively sexy walking boot for 2 weeks. And if that all doesn’t work, then I get cortisone shots in the foot. To quote Blink 182, I guess this is growing up…
As soon as I strapped that boot onto my foot, I swear every warm weather runner in Pittsburgh came out to play. And I had such a sense of anger. I knew I wasn’t going to do any running in the Pittsburgh Marathon this year (relay included,) but the boot really cemented that.
So I think it’s fitting that the message at church the other day is that power is made perfect in weakness. (2 Corinthians 12:9) If I go through this season of injury and aggravation and self-searching, maybe I’ll get to be a runner again.