I know I’ve spoken of my podophobia before on a few occasions.

I don’t.like.feet. At all.

Not even a little bit.

Which likely stemmed from my own foot issues and being the the dance world with a crap-ton of ugly feet.

This year my own foot issues reached the breaking point and I had to get to the podiatrist.

I know what was coming.

Surgery.

I knew it was inevitable.

The truth of it is, a genetic issue got progressively worse until I was in pain.

My big toe turned outward toward my pinky toe. It had reached a point where it was almost completely underneath my second toe. Only a triangle of nail was visible, which also meant I’d developed a large bunion.  The shocker was also a bone spur on my littlest toe.

Surgery on 3 toes was the decree.

So two weeks ago, 1 week before Christmas I climbed onto the surgeon’s table full of fear and anxiety and was asleep in a minute.

When I woke, my foot looked like that. All bundled up and bandaged and at first, numb as can be (yay). Within 24 hours the numbness wore off and I had to deal with the pain, and trying to walk on crutches.

It hasn’t been even a little bit easy.

I’m such an independent person.

Relying on everyone around me to handle the house, the kids, dinner, Christmas, new Years, and even my own food and drink.

It’s been hard.

On me.

On the family.

But I got to use a motorized shopping cart when the husband took me out to help my cabin fever.

Sometimes the depression is bad.

Sometimes I’m okay.

But I’m on the mend.

Slower than I wish, but as fast as the doctor had hoped.

Today I became free of stitches & bandages. I have a boot/cast so I can ease back into walking. I only need a sock now and not full bandages, although my foot having free motion is an odd feeling after being wrapped up tight for two weeks.

I’m not good at this.

My brain thinks about what’s going on inside my foot.

Makes me nauseous.

But I’m trying.