It started suddenly. One morning I woke up and had a hard time getting my knee to cooperate. I fought with it all day, dealing with the sidelong looks about how early it was to be that drunk. A lifetime of uncoordination made my buckling knee a nuisance, but bearable.
The next morning I woke up and stumbled to the bathroom. My knee worked with me, but my foot had begun rebelling. Making the most of the long toes at its disposal, my foot kept my toes perpendicular to the ground while the rest of me was moving parallel to it.
It was the constant attempt on my life through the potential for me falling that made me call the doctor early in the day. Faltering while I walk, I can easily adjust to. Constantly trying not to fall on my face, that’s a sign of serious wrong-doing. Of course, as my foot would have it, the doctor’s office was busy until the afternoon.
During the delay, my foot continue its attempts on my life. But it developed new symptoms. As the day continued, the less I could feel my foot. My toes moved from difficult to control to completely unresponsive. By the time I could see my doctor, my foot had also become cool to the touch. And then I knew for sure.
My foot had become a member of the undead.
It was quite shocking, realizing that my foot would, in a sense, outlive me. And potentially attack me for my brain.
According to my doctor, I have a condition – Drop Foot. I may or may not have a pinched nerve in my back that’s preventing my foot from getting the messages my brain is sending.
But I know that problem is that my foot has moved to the realms of the undead. I’ll still get the MRI and talk to the neurologist. And we’ll see what happens next.