The Battle of Fitting Into Shoes

Living with rheumatoid arthritis (RA), as you all know, is a constant test. A gauntlet that must be run on a daily basis that takes years to learn how to navigate. I could tell you the tricks and tips I’ve learned over my decades of dealing with the pain and discomfort, but the truth of the matter is that every person is different, and my "helps" might end up being someone else’s "hurts!"

It is one of the most frustrating things about this wretched illness — you finally get a handle on 1 thing, and then something else breaks down. It’s an endless game of Whack-A-Mole, and all they have left behind the ticket counter is cheap plastic combs of sadness and spider rings of disappointment. So, just regular plastic combs and spider rings, basically.

Health is like a game of Jenga

In all honesty, though, living with RA is more like playing an endless game of Jenga with an angry gorilla. If you even look like you are starting to get ahead, he flies into a rage and smashes your tower of well-being back down to its component blocks, and then you have to spend months or years putting your Jenga tower of health back together again. It’s something I’ve lived many times over, and even though I am approaching my fourth decade of this chronic illness quagmire, I still can’t simply shake it off and move on.

Even now, I am going through it yet again. As those of you who read my articles know, I currently have a medieval torture-like device strapped to my right ankle. Seven pins going through my foot, holding it in place. Yes, it is finally pressing flat on the floor after almost 15 years of walking on a foot at a 45-degree angle.

Issues with both feet

You can imagine how that must feel — a mix of pain, discomfort, relief, gratitude, and reward. It is bittersweet, in a word, but I know at the end I’ll be better for it, and that’s what it should be — a pure win after a decade and a half of waiting. Unfortunately, rheumatoid arthritis doesn’t hand out unmitigated successes like that because, well, it’s rheumatoid arthritis.

As you may not be surprised to hear, while my right foot was a dumpster fire of dumpster fires... on fire, my left foot wasn’t perfect either. It looks like a banana that someone stepped on and left in the gutter, but it worked. It fit in a shoe and still did all the feety things a foot is supposed to do. Yes, if I took my shoes off at the town pool, animals and small children went running, and I definitely was never going to star in that all-male production of Cinderella, but the foot worked, and it was relatively painless. Well, those days have come to an end. Of course, it happens at the worst possible time.

New pain and wounds on my left foot

It makes sense — with my right foot out of commission and being repaired, that means my left foot had to take up the slack. Carry the load, as it were, and, well, I think we all know what happens when we rely too much on one part of the body when you live with rheumatoid arthritis. It worked... until it didn’t.

Now, not only is it hurting, but it feels like something has fractured on the inside, and there is a growing sore spot next to the little toe. In addition, the callus that formed from rubbing up against my shoe is starting to peel off, leaving a wound underneath. As if that’s not enough, the area most people get a bunion at, by the big toe, is starting to stick out just like, well, a bunion.

My other foot may need surgery, too

Now, I know what you are thinking, and you’re probably right — the pain and growing injury is more than likely due to the years of damage that RA has done, plus the fact that I have been using my left foot for the last 5 months as my main support pylon. Heck, for the first month after the operation, I was hopping around like a rabbit. That certainly can’t have been good for a body part already riddled with RA. Even with crutches and a walker, I looked like someone filled the Energizer Bunny with Target off-brand D-cells.

Here I am now, about a month away from getting the pins removed from my right foot and having it flat on the ground for the first time in years. It should be a time for celebration and reverie, but all I can think about is what I am going to do about the other foot. It hurts when I walk on it, and I’m not sure if it will even fit in a shoe any longer. It might even need its own surgery, and that means weeks or months, again, before I can wear shoes and walk around like a "normal" person.

Living with RA takes a mental toll

Most people don’t realize how important it is to have feet that fit in shoes and don’t hurt until they don’t. It is awful. Not to mention they may still have to do a further procedure on the right foot to shave bones down to make it the size of a normal foot and ankle — again, to fit in a shoe. Seriously, I have done more to fit my feet into shoes than Cinderella’s evil stepsisters and Dorothy from Oz combined.

So, the battle of Shoe Fit Hill rages on, and there still isn’t any end in sight. It takes a mental toll, as well as physical, and even after all the years I’ve lived with RA, I still have trouble dealing with the neverending cycle. It is part and parcel of this illness, though, and knowing I am not alone helps, even if only a little at times. It’s something we all go through, though, and we do our best to make it through the day. Barefoot or otherwise. Talk soon.