A Cautionary Tale. We're middle-aged - it's time to pay…
By: Cara Gormally
Tags: Health, Cara Gormally, Old Mom Problems, Babies, Parenting

Plantar fasciitis: if it sounds awfully like fascist fascism, it’s because it is a demanding dictator. Heck, I just wanted my spouse back on her feet before our baby started walking. She tried treatment after treatment. When would her foot be cured?

Figure 2. The year in fasciitis treatments.

Options were running out. The doctor prescribed a walking cast. “If this doesn’t work, our only other recourse is a plaster cast,” the doctor said, lecturing my spouse to stay off her feet. Would it work? Would my spouse — notorious for flouting rules — and for doing anything for our baby — comply?

Meanwhile, our tiny tyke was determined to become bipedal. He was cruising and pulling up everywhere; nothing was safe from his upward-reaching grasp. Each day, the grandparents asked, “Is he walking?”

Figure 3. Cruising every available surface.

I longed for the day when the three of us could go on adventures together.

“F*** plantar fasciitis,” I thought.

The clock was ticking: any day we’d have a tiny walker, and we needed zone defense! So I went into scientist mode. I hypothesized: the less mobile my spouse was, the faster her foot would heal. Easier said than done with a baby, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

I became a dictator. “Sit down!” I barked. “I’ll get it!” From dawn to dusk, for three months, I did all the things: fetched coffee and all manner of things, held the baby, cooked, did household chores (thank you, grocery delivery service). It was a lot — but it was worth it.

Figure 4. Trapped in the somewhat ironically-named walking boot. <Sigh.>

Sidelined, my extraverted partner-in-crime felt isolated. I hated seeing her benched from all the things she loved. The days crept by.

Finally, it was time to take the boot off. As she gingerly took her first pain-free steps, we held our breath. Was it finally gone? Well, not completely, but she was well on the road to recovery, with a bit of physical therapy.

Figure 5. Put your oxygen mask on first.

Plantar fasciitis taught us a valuable lesson: we had to take care of ourselves first. Like parents everywhere, we’d do anything for our kid. But these injuries reminded us, “Hey, slow down, take care of yourself, too.” #selfcare is key.

A dear, wise friend of mine said:

We’re middle-aged — it’s time to pay attention and give our bodies a little more love. Everything needs a little more care.

Figure 6. Exhibit of fasciitis accessories: (left to right) walking boot; Thera-band; custom orthotics; frozen bottle for icing; scalpel for thankfully avoided surgery (eek!); night splint; cortisone shot.

We’ve got a museum exhibit’s worth of artifacts: all good reminders to take care of ourselves.

In conclusion, may I recommend, just in case — keep your ankle dorsiflexion flexible. In plain English, that means stretch your ankles, people! Since plantar fasciitis strikes a diverse group of poor souls, it’s hard to say if you’re at risk or not, so you might as well stretch.

Figure 7. Ankle dorsiflexion.

Epilogue: We’re on the upswing now! All is right with the universe: our baby started to walk and so did my spouse, again. Seeing them play together on the playground makes my heart burst open.