“An inflammation of a thick band of tissue that connects the heel bone to the toes.  The inflamed tissue runs across the bottom of the foot.  Symptoms include stabbing pain near the heel.”

(Sigh)

I remember it well.  I don’t know why I got it or how I got rid of it … but there were months between.  And yes, the heel!  There I was, 40 or 50 or something, wondering if my walking days were over.

Like things I’ve mentioned before, I’d forgotten about this period of pain, of being “a little old man” before my time.  Forgot until a week ago.  I was walking somewhere with someone.  (Hmm … how’s that for senior memory ability?)

It was early afternoon.  A touch of pressure in my right heel.  “So what?  I’m bigger than that.” 

Late afternoon.  Pressure has become pain.  Pain is becoming sharp pain.  Limping.  “Woh … guess I’m smaller than that.”

And then the mind.  “Not again.  Not all that agony for all that time.  Please, God!”

Despair as I hobbled home.  “Rest.  Put your feet up.  All will be well in the morning.”

Time for bed.  Limping to the bathroom.  Feeling “Poor Me” entering the space.

I sat on the edge of my bed and proceeded to do what I do every evening.  Unroll and take off my compression stockings.  I start with the left one.  Off the leg and flying through the air to a conveniently empty spot on the floor.  I smiled as I beheld the athletic move.

Now for the right.  Unroll. Remove from the toes.  And then …

Ping (or some word like that)

Something dropped onto the floor.  I stared at the round smallness.  Here it is, recently relocated to my bedside table:

One tiny blood pressure pill.  And my heel felt funny.  I touched.  And there was a tiny blood pressure pill hole!

So the truth of the universe was revealed.  No future months of pain caused by a word that is difficult to spell.

***

The day before, I had sat on the bed with bottles of pills and supplements.  I had doled out twenty-days-worth of the little critters, and plopped them into a plastic bag.

All except one.  It had found the floor, ready for the next morning’s ritual – Bruce sitting down and putting on his compression stockings.

***

As Mark Twain said …

I am an old man

And have known a great many troubles

But most of them never happened