"Poke Out That Toe There, Diskey"

I was born (and remain) a little bit pigeon-toed.  It isn't cosmetically outrageous, and apart from The Red Shoes of my childhood, hasn't really played much part in my life.  Its major presence was in a short script from my dad (seen above in the subject line), accompanied by his sticking a foot between mine, and kicking out my toes.

Not long ago, I realized that the ankle injuries I've had in my life, especially the most recent, seem to favor my right side.  Or disfavor, I suppose.

The pigeon foot happens to be my right, and for the past year I have noticed, too, a pretty astounding amount of pain in this foot.  I've begun to notice that the level of pain in my normal leg and foot is just about nil in comparison with the right.  Many mornings, I get up and actually hobble at least two steps before my right leg can bear any weight.  At work, sitting too long, if I don't stand a few moments in my cube before trying to walk, it can be painful.  I'm no longer convinced it's just normal ageing, is the thing.  The level has increased too fast (particularly since the April Fool's sprain), and too high to seem "right" to me.

Most recently, I spent the day at the fair with my mom, family, and friend B, and by the end of the day - and extensive walking - I was in enough pain that masking it had become impossible, and walking normally simply became impossible.  I was astounded at how bad it was.  And, frankly, pretty embarrassed.

Now, my mom would say I am paying the price for one too many pair of foxy girl heels - and obviously, even if I am right in thinking my misaligned feet are a part of the problem, and also have invited the injuries I've had perhaps more than average over my lifetime, heels are clearly not courting good bone health.  But the worst pain comes when I have gone out walking Siddy (invariably a flat-shod activity) in sneakers with even slightly less than the best cushioning.

And, really - ALL the sneakers have less than perfect shock absorption.  My Sketchers are by far the worst - no arch support, of course (Sketchers are too cute for arch support), but also thinner soles than any of the tennies I have ever owned.  The lawn-mowing Spaldings were once the best shoes I could ask for - but, at something now like nine years of age, and heavily rotated for at least six of those, they're compressed quite a bit.  Their arch support is still good - heh - and they suit well for grass staining.  But at this point, I don't own even one pair of shoes which are actually any good for walking.  See also:  the State Fair.

Ow.

Anyway, so my thinking is that my ankles are pretty weak, or at least the one is.  I'm not daintily enough built for anyone to think me frail, but this peculiarity isn't even strong enough to really be visible to people.

The foot I fell on on April 1 was my right.  The way I fell was a misstep on the back stairs, and my alignment was off.  On a foot which was built - even if only by the tiniest degree - misaligned.

I think this goes on that list for the imaginary "one of these days" trip I need to make to the doctor.  What about this pain, Dr. M.?  And what about the history of sprains - particularly this most recent, and extraordinary one.