Journal entries – Baydreamer Writes ~ Lauren Scott, Author

Dear Family and Friends,

What I’m posting today is not something I normally share. Maybe some will think this isn’t a good idea. There is no poem or fiction story. I’m sharing something personal but definitely not for sympathy. More for a cathartic purpose, a release, and maybe, hopefully, one of you will be able to shed some light for me. This is kind of long, so I understand if you don’t have time to read. But if you do, and you have knowledge of what I’m talking about, I’d be grateful to read your comments. By the way, I may regret posting this, so it could end up deleted.

Dear Journal,

They say that writing is therapeutic, so here goes…

Over two months ago, I started experiencing a lightning bolt jolt of pain through my right heel. The pain came in spurts, any time, any level of pain, and any frequency. They’d last only for seconds. Some jolts were mild, some were moderate, but one Thursday, the jolts began with my morning coffee around 5:30 am and continued throughout the day until around 1:30 pm when they finally mellowed. They came in series of 7 or 8 jolts every twenty minutes or so, Boom! Boom! Boom! One after the other with the intensity I have never felt before until this day. The jolts were debilitating. I stayed home from work, and admittedly, I was in tears and my nerves were on edge. I tried to stay calm, but calm was difficult to attain. I began to anticipate the jolts, which paralyzed me from doing anything, reading, writing, even blogging. The degree of this level of heel pain was new, so I emailed my doctor, and she ordered x-rays.

I had to get these x-rays done on this day when the jolts were at their strongest degree of pain, which honestly, felt like an 11! But I was afraid to drive because with this pain being in my right foot, my accelerating and braking foot, I feared a strong jolt would occur while driving, causing me to have a knee-jerk reaction, and who knows what would happen. So, my husband took me to get x-rays. The next day, my doctor said that the results indicated a heel bursa. I didn’t think so. Years ago, I had an irritated bursa in my hip, which went away over time, and this felt more ‘nervy.’ And her assumption didn’t even match the medical results I read on my medical online account that I couldn’t quite decode. She referred me to a podiatry specialist.

My podiatrist said that it wasn’t a bursa, and after tapping my heel and listening to my symptoms, here’s what he said, “I really don’t know what this is.” It’s not Planter Fasciitis or Neuropathy. I was praying for a diagnosis, cause, and treatment, so these words were beyond disheartening. By this time, I had been wearing Hoka tennis shoes and heel cups (never heard of them before) for a few weeks, creating more support for my foot. He said to continue wearing them, rest, and ice, but he was going to refer me to neurology to have my nerves tested. When he described the process for that, I almost passed out. By the way, am I the first person to tell him about this kind of heel pain? I find that hard to believe. How could he not have any idea?

Then after hearing my case, neurology told him that it wasn’t necessary for me to have a consultation with them. My podiatrist labeled my condition as Baxters Neuritis and prescribed Gabapentin to mitigate the pain and to be taken each night, low dosage. A tiny part of me thinks he’s reaching for a label to appease me because when I Googled Baxters Neuritis (of course, I did), the symptoms didn’t align with mine. Maybe cases vary, I don’t know.

So, fast forward three weeks, and I’ve been living in Hokas (now have 3 pair: white, black, and bright blue), except for sleeping and showering. Luckily, I’ve had several pain-free or I should say, jolt-free days, and 1 jolt on other days. None at night, so I’ve been able to sleep. Because the intense pain never visited again, I have not taken the meds. I’ll take them if I need them. The lessening pain has me feeling hopeful.

With all this said, I know most of us deal with some kind of pain. Pain that will fade over time, heal with Motrin or other meds. Some people are handed a life and death diagnosis. This is not life or death. But because it’s nerve related, it may be chronic, and because it’s in my foot, it impacts my ability to walk Copper, our lab, to walk for exercise, and simply to walk from the front door to my car, or at work, or from my car to the grocery store, let alone through the store.

This random, bizarre, unpredictable pain impacts my life with my husband, our love for hiking and backpacking. We have a trip planned in August, in six weeks. If you asked me today if I could do it, I’d say no, because I’m limiting time on my feet to hopefully rest the nerve, and dare I say, heal? I can’t even walk around the block, and I don’t know if this will ever heal. And this thought breaks my heart because I feel like I’m breaking my husband’s heart. Now in our early sixties, we want to hike and backpack for as long as we can. And if we had to stop now, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. We could still camp. I can function – the bright side. And of course, he doesn’t see it as me breaking his heart. He feels helpless when I’m in pain, and since my tolerance is pretty high, he knows when I’m truly hurting. Of course, he’d be disappointed if we couldn’t hike or backpack again, but he cares about me first and foremost. Just so you know. But I look at the big picture and feel like a burden. I really do. I’m aware of my foot every day, sounds funny, doesn’t it? But really, I’m babying it, handling that nerve with kid gloves.

Yesterday, July 4^th, was an anomaly. I had three series of jolts throughout the day. I analyzed and asked, “Why?” I’m wearing good shoes, walking less, icing, resting…but I am living, so I am walking, just not as much. I’m not sitting on my butt. I’m still working, and I’ve walked Copper, but the walks have been truncated. Fortunately, he’s older now, so he’s just happy to get out and sniff and pee. But just when I was feeling hopeful, I felt like I took five steps backward yesterday.

Anyway, I’ve tried to keep a positive mindset. On the pain-free days, I am grateful. And when just one jolt comes and it’s mild, I am grateful. But it’s not only the intense pain that is paralyzing, it’s the “Why?” when I’ve been doing everything I should be doing. And then, it’s the anticipating for another jolt to follow, until I do some deep breathing and move on with whatever I’m doing at the time.

Miracles happen, right? Well, I’m also realistic. And this isn’t life and death, but even though it’s not, it’s impactful to me, to my husband, to my dog, and to my future. Our feet are necessary for everyday tasks. If it sounds like I’m whining, please forgive me. Please understand whining about poor me is not my intention. Writing about this is therapy. I’m not one to complain, and I’m compassionate for those in worse, worse, situations. But this is my new pain, my new change, and that shouldn’t be negated either. I continue to take one day at a time, pray for a pain-free day, and deep breathe when necessary, and hope for a miracle. But if that miracle isn’t meant to be, then I’ll have to modify my activities. My husband and I will have to make changes. I just bought an exercise bike (cheaper than a pool because swimming is good exercise), so hubby and I will set that up this week. An option. Moving forward. The only option is to move forward.

Thank you for stopping by. Thank you for reading if you had the time. This is raw writing, no editing, so if you see mistakes, please forgive those, too.
With love, Lauren ❤️

Wrapping up my workday with fifteen minutes to go before stepping outside into Friday freedom, I hear my phone ping. A short text from my daughter: Hey, Mom, would you want to chat later?

It’s been a couple of weeks since we talked, and since she lives on the other side of the country, of course, I wanted to chat! My fingers tapped back: Sure! I’ll call in a half hour when I’m home.

For hours to fly by when we talk on the phone isn’t unusual at all. But this call turned out to beat that record by a landslide. When my husband walked through the door, home from work, I said, “Hi Honey, I’ve been talking to Steph for two hours.”

“Are you kidding me?” He asked, grinning, not understanding what in the world could keep a conversation going for so long.

And it kept going. We chatted about work – the fun and the annoying elements, and about friends. I asked her about the 3-year-old tabby cat, Oliver, she and her husband recently adopted. Somehow the weather swept into our conversation – another drought and fire season on the horizon for us, and lastly, about her brother who is moving out in a week, embarking on a new chapter of life. He’s been home with us for a couple of years post college graduation, working full-time remotely. But the time has come. The time is right.

Steph and I gabbed about Michael’s new chapter nudging “Dad and I” into our new Empty Nesters stage. Exciting times for all of us, but bittersweet where many different emotions whirl around in our heads and hearts. The thing is he’s moving across country, too, which means both of our children will be on the same coast as each other, but miles and miles and miles away from us. This is when our hearts become heavy. We can’t see Steph and Ryan on a whim, and the same will be for Michael when he’s moved.

I filled Steph in about Michael wanting to help us rearrange furniture in the bedrooms so that Mom and Dad can reap the benefits of having the house to themselves. Shortly after he signed his apartment lease, with each day came a new flood of tears for me. But as he moves furniture and rewires electronics, he has tamped down those tears by keeping my brain and emotions occupied. Though a tsunami will gush on the day he drives away. No doubt.

Steph understood. When she and Ryan moved, Michael lived with us. Tears still trickled down our cheeks, but it was different with having one of our kids still at home. So, when Michael leaves, it’ll just be Matt, me, and Copper, our crazy canine, who will watch the distance widen between us and his car. We know Copper will sense the emptiness in the house, missing the cuddles, too, from his brother.

After Matt watered the grass, he poured us some Pinot Noir and Chardonnay and I carried the conversation out to the patio. He joined in, telling Steph all about his recent motorcycle trip, and how he checked off that box on his bucket list. He shared that his dad, two weeks shy of turning 98, is not doing well. “Give him a call,” he tells her. “And send him a birthday card with photos of Ollie. He’d love that.”

Before we knew it, tears from all of us struggled for freedom. The conversation stayed light-hearted, full of laughter, but also brimmed with love and poignancy. When we all finally said talk to ya later, four hours had passed!

Here’s my take-away: we love our children so much, yes, and sometimes to the point that it hurts. Parenting doesn’t get easier as age transforms into a larger number – with each new phase develops new sets of worries. But as our daughter and son pave their own paths, we couldn’t be prouder. They’re adulting and doing it well. We just wish their paths were on the west coast. Such is life. And as the gray hairs flourish and the wrinkles form, knowing they love us to the same extent is something so much bigger to be thankful for – and knowledge to sustain us until we or they hop on a plane, heading across country.

A phone call to treasure.

Lauren Scott ❤️