Three weeks ago I injure the top of my right foot.
I see my podiatrist, who concludes I have a stress fracture. He recommends a cast (not a boot) for six to eight weeks. The thought is too depressing, so instead I do nothing.
My sister gives me the name of a foot specialist she has used, Dr. Steven Sheskier. I make an appointment; it takes a week and a half to get in to see him.
In the meantime, I hobble around in my Nike sneakers, walking almost nine miles, three times a week, and have the best week at Saks since I started almost two years ago. I think it's the sneakers.
I still have swelling. My foot still aches. But surprisingly, my right foot hasn't gotten worse. If anything, it seems to be getting better.
Today I finally see Dr. Sheskier. He examines my foot. Asks me to walk on tiptoes. Takes some x-rays. And then gives me his diagnosis.
"First, the chances of your having a stress fracture are zero." He emphasizes this point by making his thumb and forefinger into a circle.
What I have instead, he tells me, is a contusion —that means that I ruptured some blood capillaries. Or, more simply put, my foot is bruised.
Dr. Sheskier gives me some topical medication to help with the swelling, then sends me on my way.
I still can't get into my heels for a wedding this weekend, but that kind of bad news is easy to accept.
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