It’s St. Paddy’s Day – and begorrah, I’m hoping for some luck o’ the Irish to  be rubbing my way as I begin taking steroids!

No, NOT that kind of steroids. I finally went to a podiatrist. I’d just incorporated the word “orthotics” into my daily life (which – ugh, just makes you sound old … the Depends are next, I reckon), and now I find out my tendon was nearly (and this is his word) shredded.


The motorcycle landed on the side of my foot, but he asked if my ankle rolled. It’s possible, I don’t remember. I do remember searing amounts of pain, and no swelling, which made everyone think I was just a big baby. Turns out, the tendon along the outer side, the one connecting to the heel, was so stretched thin (possibly from all the ankle injuries I had in rugby) that he was surprised it didn’t snap then and there.

And … (again, his words) the healing was done. If I’d come to him earlier, more might be done. Now, it’s steroids to alleviate the last of the inflammation, more orthotics and an ankle brace for physical activity.

What does it sound like this company makes motor oil?

I went through all the stages – anger, denial, grief … and ended up in denial. I can’t live with a shredded rubber band of a tendon. I’ve kept myself staph-free for 2 1/2 years by using manuka honey – I’ll find a way to regenerate this bloody tendon.

Otherwise, what sort of Time Lord can I claim to be? 🙂

The steroids ARE doing a great job on the pain. And I’m convinced I’ll figure out a way to heel — heal, myself.

In other, more awesome news, I finished the first draft of my new novel. I will set it aside for a week, then start rewrites. I’m as stoked about that as I am bummed about my foot.

Happy St. Paddy’s and be careful of all your tendons!

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