I have broken my feet three times over the last decade, merely from walking, usually while exercising… not falling.
Before that, in 2006, I fell off the Wii Fit Board (remember those?), again, exercising, and broke my foot that required three surgeries and a pin to hold everything together. (I also received narcotics that I ended up addicted to for eight years. I’m clean nine years now, so it’s all good.)
In 1995, I (ironically) fell over a balance scale at the birth center where I worked and broke my ankle that needed two surgeries to fix. I also got Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy (RSD), which is now called Complex Regional Pain Syndrome (CRPS). That’s a long story for another day.
At almost 400 pounds two years ago, I sat in the Podiatrist’s office talking about why my feet kept breaking. I knew and he knew it was because of my weight. I told him I kept the boot and shoes so if the ER told me to go home, I had something to put my foot/feet in. He told me there was nothing to do anymore but put my foot in the boot or shoe, that I did not need to go to the hospital again unless there was a bone protruding. I winced, but wasn’t surprised.
Sizes All Around
The boot I had was special ordered because my calves were so big. They also had to use extra Velcro wraps to keep the opening shut. The shoes were men’s sizes and as wide as they would go.
Thinking back, I could have cried about the special accommodations being made for me, but I took it in stride just like I did with the rest of my life as someone with severe morbid obesity (what we called it at the time… now it is a Class V Obesity).
As I was decluttering clothes from the closet, I saw the boot and shoes up on the top shelf and grabbed the picker-upper tool (that I use to reach up with now, not grab things from the floor like I had to for many years). I pulled down the shoes first, dusty as all get out, and then the enormously heavy boot. The boot fell loudly onto the floor, its dust rising and suddenly, my heart felt sad.
I knew these shoes and that boot very well. I wore the boot on one leg and a shoe on the other foot for a year once.
My Own Fault
The sadness comes from all the time I missed in my life because of being in casts, boots, and shoes.
Even though I know (intellectually) that having obesity is like having diabetes or high blood pressure or even just needing glasses… something that can run in families… I can’t help but feel these physical aftereffects of being fat my whole life are 100% my own fault. I grasp at the information that it was the obesity that caused these problems, but I did not cause the obesity. It’s all still just out of my reach of comprehension.
My diabetic genes mixed with other diabetic genes and created my body that, as soon as my tonsils were removed at 7-years old, flipped out and stuttered insulin for decade after decade. My insulin resistance began in elementary school and got progressively worse despite being in marching band, walking to and from school in the boiling Florida heat, and riding my bike for hours on end with my friends. I really did do my part!
And still I failed.
I’ve got so many aches, ills, and struggles because of a lifetime of carrying around gobs of fat.
I’m 62 and only just now able to treat my obesity.
That’s why I’m wiping tears.