I had gotten comfortable. My foot was under my control once more; the dread and paranoia were finally beginning to abate. My life seemed to have moved on and reached a normal state.

And then, as always happens in these types of stories, the zombie foot reappeared.

But this time, the zombie foot arrived in a different form – an envelope full of papers requesting money. First the lab requested money for the blood work that revealed I was normal. This was followed by the bill for the neurologist who wanted money for the torture session that also determined I was normal. And then finally a monster of a bill for the MRI that concluded my lower back was not the cause of my zombie foot.

I could have told them all that my problem was nothing more than a dose of too much horror. And possibly the preservatives in the crappy food I eat. But instead I had to undergo close to $3000 USD of medical procedures and tests. And I thank God that I have the ability to pay for health insurance, because the 1/3 of that I still have outstanding will be enough of a challenge. Paying the total amount out-of-pocket would have been impossible.

And so my ability, luck, and foresight (and growing up the child of an insurance agent) saved me from the sneak attack of the zombie foot. But now I know that my zombie foot may strike at any time. Despite my current control over my foot, I have learned now that it will ever hunger for my brain. I must be ever cautious of its actions and plans to destroy me.