The Doctor Is In

A new week, a new complaint.

Perhaps this can be explained by my Jewish habit of kvetching. There’s that old joke that goes like this:

An old Jewish man riding on a train begins to moan: “Oy, am I thirsty; oy, am I thirsty”, to the annoyance of the other passengers. Finally, another passenger gets a cup of water from the drinking fountain and gives it to the old man, who thanks him profusely and gulps it down. Feeling satisfied, the other passenger sits down again, only to hear “Oy, was I thirsty; oy, was I thirsty”.

But perhaps I’m prone to physical harm. Right now I’ve finishing up antibiotics to treat a sinus infection, scheduling an x-ray for the pinched nerve in my upper back, have a fair amount of mysterious black and blues on my hips and legs, and a monster hangover-induced headache. And now…

This time it’s my foot. What I thought was just an umcomfortable wedge and a long walk has morphed into a a sharp pain on the top of my foot made worse when I stretch my big toe in any way. Day two I noticed there was swelling on my foot and the pain was worse. Walking up and down stairs was agony, and I hobbled slowly up and down to catch the L.

I decided another self-diagnosis was in order. As I’ve said before, my track record for these diagnoses is impeccable. I go to the doctor with my symptoms, my ailments, my causes, and a treatment plan. I’ve done this recently with my sinus infection and pinched nerve. I’ve also correctly diagnosed the hormone disorder three doctors refused to believe I could have. So, after careful research, I’ve got my answer.

Extensor Tendinitis. A common sports injury! Me — the most unathletic kid in the world! To be fair, I walk at least thirty blocks daily as part of my normal work commute. I’m self-medicating with my prescription strength ibuprofen initially useful for my back, icing my foot, walking less, and comfy shoes.

Yes, I have insurance and a doctor. But why bother when I can diagnose and treat myself? There’s less paperwork and much better waiting room.

For now, cross your fingers I’m correct. Because if I’m wrong then I’m got a stress fracture, but I refuse to believe this pain will lead to a big, embarassing foot cast and months of kvetching.