Plantar fasciitis, Poison Ivy, and Soul Sisters

Plantar fasciitis, Poison Ivy and Soul Sisters

Remember John Denver’s song that said in part,

“Some days are diamonds, some days are stones
Sometimes the hard times won’t leave me alone
Sometimes a cold wind blows a chill in my bones
Some days are diamonds, some days are stones.”

This past week I got a bag full of stones and diamonds. That’s how life is. Good moments. Bad moments. And drive you crazy moments.

Last Saturday we celebrated my 7 year old granddaughter’s birthday by going to see Puppy Pals at Skypac in Bowling Green. One of the most pure joys of being a grandparent is watching your grandchildren have fun.

Part way through the performance of jumping canines and overly zealous and slightly irritating (but good intentioned) trainers I noticed I was itching. I had a new blouse on and decided I was allergic to the material. Wrong.

That night when I got home I realized I was covered in poison ivy. Legs. Arms. Tummy. It was Saturday and so I scratched through the weekend until I could get to the doctor on Monday to get a shot. It slowed it down but it didn’t stop. I have used 3 kinds of medicated cream and every home remedy recommended to me by my Facebook friends. I wish I knew where I ran into the cursed weed, but I don’t. Therefore, said weed shall stay safe until I can get a bottle of Roundup and commit 1st degree weed murder.

Sometime in the past few weeks (I don’t remember when) I began having pain in the heel of my right foot. It would get worse, then better, then finally intensified to the “YOU GOTTA DO SOMETHING” stage. While I was at the doctor’s office getting a shot for my poison ivy I asked the young man (I swear he looks 17) about my foot. He asked me some questions and then declared “Plantar fasciitis and poison ivy both at one time. How miserable,” he sympathized.

I told him he was correct and hobbled and scratched my way out of his office, with a hand full of prescriptions and a bandaid on my hip where the nurse gave me a steroid shot.

Two days later (I was still itching but it was better) I had a speaking engagement in Bowling Green with a group of Christian ladies. They invited me to speak to them about life problems and different ways we can and should react when they occur. They invited me 3 months ago so this wasn’t about the plantar fasciitis or the poison ivy. My talk was entitled, “Our journey through Covid and what God taught me.”

Reba the dog (not the country music star)

I hated leaving my dog alone at home for several hours so I called my cousin and asked him if he would meet me at the church, get Reba and then I would pick her up later. He agreed. When Reba and I arrived at the packed parking lot I looked around for my cousin but couldn’t find him. I called him and he said, “I didn’t hear the part about meeting you, I thought you were bringing her here.” I glanced at my watch. “Could you please come and get her? I don’t have time to get out there and back.” He agreed and my anxiety level (the one I get when I am late to a speaking event) shot up about 3 points.

Finally, he arrived and i got my computer, my phone, and Reba on a leash out into the parking lot. Reba saw all the cars and people and panicked. She snapped the leash and took off. There was no way I could hobble fast enough to catch her. Fortunately my cousin caught her. I thanked him and then limped off in search of room 300, which was where I was supposed to be about ten minutes ago.

The church ladies were so nice and I gulped down two large glasses of pink punch. I had worked up a sweat in the parking lot and was parched. Lisa, the lady who had invited me, brought me the punch and offered to help me with my computer and assorted items I was carrying.

“Why do you have a dog leash?” she asked.

I hadn’t even realized it was in my hand. “Long story,” I said, and asked for another glass of punch.

In spite of everything the talk went well enough and at the end the ladies asked some questions and we talked for awhile. One lady in particular was staring at me. As she made her way to me I wondered if I knew her. She looked somewhat familiar.

I didn’t know her but she was a nurse at one of the hospitals my husband was in during Covid, perhaps we had passed each other in the hallway. Anyway, she was super nice and had made me a list of suggestions for plantar fasciitis. I took the list and thanked her. She asked me if the shoes I was wearing had insoles in them. I said yes. “Take your shoes off and let me see,” she said.

Uh oh

My closest friends and family are the only people who get to see my feet. I go to great lengths to keep them hidden. I never wear open-toed shoes, flip flops or sandals. Supposedly my feet can be attributed to my paternal grandmother’s family. Three of my five children have feet just like me (poor babies). I just hope the genetics stop with their generation and my sweet grandchildren don’t inherit my ugly feet. If they do, Nana is very sorry.

I really did NOT want to take my shoe off (I wasn’t wearing socks) but she insisted so I did. To her credit she didn’t scream, laugh or ask me what was wrong with my toes (they point in different directions). She examined the insoles and proclaimed them too soft.

“I have an idea,” she said. “I have feet problems and have to wear inserts. My left foot is my bad foot and yours is your right.”

She took off her shoe and pulled out a Dr. Scholls insert and put it in my shoe. “Now, see how that feels,” she said.

I shoved my foot back into my shoe, anxious to hide the ugly appendage.

“It feels much better,” I said, and it did.

Soul Sisters

I thanked her and said, “You realize that now we are “sole sisters.” I thought about breaking into song with “Hey sister, go sister, soul sister, go sister.” But decided the way my week was going, that probably wasn’t a good idea.

She laughed and I gathered up my belongings and prepared to leave. It was getting late and I still had to go get Reba.

I was wandering around the parking lot trying to remember where I parked my car when I heard someone calling my name. I stopped and realized it was Lisa, the sweet lady who had invited me.

Thank goodness I caught you, she said. “You are wearing our church microphone.”

I looked down at my lapel. I had totally forgotten.

“Glad you caught me, of course I couldn’t outrun a three legged turtle this week.” I said and apologized for swiping their microphone.

Home Again Home Again Jiggity Jog

When I finally found my car and picked up Reba I drove home in a state of exhaustion. All I wanted to do was brush my teeth and go to bed.

I made it home safely, put on my pajamas, grabbed my toothbrush and brushed.

Then gagged.

I looked at the tube in my hand. Benadryl anti itch cream.

I fell into bed and gave thanks for the diamonds and stones of the day (and that my teeth were not itching).

It’s been one of those weeks, full of diamonds (being with grandchildren, watching my oldest granddaughter graduate, meeting new soul sisters) with a few stones mixed in to keep me humble.

Like my cousin Martha was so fond of saying….”Every day may not be good, but there is good in every day.”

Thank you, Jesus, for the good in my days and help me to learn from the experiences that feel like stones.