Meat Feet

Have you ever had that dream where you lose all your teeth?

My feet started going numb a few years ago. It felt weird, right from the beginning. A small knot of flesh in my left foot got kind of tingly, and then it went mostly numb.

I was a little freaked out, and for a while I just monitored it, hoping it would go away. It didn’t, although it did change shape, and sort of slowly moved around inside my foot, from day to day (I don’t have the medical language to describe this well). It was interesting, but when it didn’t go away it became worrisome.

I went to my doctor. He didn’t seem as concerned as I was. He didn’t even look at my foot (no doctor actually looked at my foot through this entire process, a subject to discuss in another newsletter). He told me the cause was neuropathy, that it was common for someone my age, and there was little that could be done about it. Okay. I accepted that it was common, that nothing could be done, and that my feet weren’t going to fall off in the near future or anything.

It got worse. Every year, a slightly larger piece of real estate on my left foot went numb. It started to spread to my right foot. Then that piece of podiatral real estate began to grow.

I think the worst of the situation (for this story has a happy ending!) occurred on a trip to Chicago this summer, when we walked all over downtown, and I had the distinct sensation that, whenever I took a step, it was like slapping the concrete with a raw piece of steak. Flap. Flop. Flap. Flop. Not painful. Just numb. Numb foot-meat.

It was very disconcerting. It made me feel decrepit. There’s a dream that I think most people have, of all of their teeth falling out. I’ve certainly had it. That dream is disconcerting in a similar way: it describes a feeling of Darwinian powerlessness. I can’t hunt anymore! My teeth are gone. Losing my feet meant a similar loss of autonomy.

The difference, of course, is that the teeth thing is a dream. The numb foot-meat thing was something happening to me in actual waking life! I knew intuitively, that nothing was wrong with my feet, other than numbness, but I could not divest myself of the idea that walking with numb feet was somehow destroying them, like driving on flat tires.

It wasn’t a logical fear. Like I said, the sensation was very disconcerting. A similarly illogical fear that I had diabetes continually reared its head (I had no other symptoms).

In short: I felt old.

Meanwhile, referrals were making there way through the glacially slow gears of the American medical system. I had an X-ray, then an MRI (I’m oddly fascinated by MRI machines, so that was kind of enjoyable). Finally, I got an appointment with a pain specialist (though I was not in pain).

He agreed that it was neuropathy, and that it was common for people my age. When I said I’d been told nothing could be done, he raised his eyebrows. He mentioned several options, but the first one, and the easiest, was a pill. I said sure, and he prescribed it.

The pills made me feel a little spacey, but that went away quickly. After that, it was like a watching (feeling?) a movie in reverse. Every day, I started to regain feeling in my feet. It was a slow process, though not as slow as the numbing process. I’d wake up every morning absurdly excited about the possibility of regaining more feeling in my feet. And nearly every morning, I was rewarded. Some small part of flesh in my foot would reawaken. It was a wonderful way to begin the day, and left me with a large dollop of optimism and joy to work with. Part of that is practical, in that I cold feel my feet again: my medical problem had been solved. But part of this victory was symbolic, and harks back to that dream of losing teeth I began this essay with: I’d regained my ability to hunt. I could survive the Darwinian jungle.

In short: I feel young.

The process isn’t total. I still have a small strip of tingly numbness along my second and third toes, in both feet, which points to a specific vertebrae in my back. Ultimately, I’ll probably end up with back pain, just like my Dad did.

I can live with that. I’m ending up like him in all sorts of ways.

Peace.

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I haven’t sold a story in what feels a million years, so I’ll provide no links to stories today. Enjoy the holidays, everyone. Rest assured that you, gentle reader, will be among the first to know when I get a bite.