Clean, to the bone

No one would argue that the most important tool to a Marine is his rifle; this is drilled into us from day one of boot camp, when we are taught the Rifleman’s Creed. What movies don’t tell you, though, is that a Marine’s second most important set of tools are their feet; what good is their rifle if they can get it to where they need to fire it?

Through constant vigilance for blisters and inflammation, during nightly hygiene inspections, to the extra pairs of socks you pack with you on long humps (so you can change into a dry pair at regular halts), you learn to appreciate your feet in a way you might never have before. My feet, lo those many years ago, became very important to me and have remained so to this day, through all the exertions of my life on into the sport of fencing and coaching it.

A year ago, at the Olympic Training Center during Coaches College, I started to have some pain in my left foot. For those of you unfamiliar with fencing, this, for right-handers, is your power foot. I thought it might simply be strain, or perhaps even age, so I went to sports injury to get it wrapped. The doc said it looked like I had the beginnings of a bunion. I smiled and ohed politely, but in my head I said, “Bunion!? That’s chick stuff!?” Call me sexist if you like, but seriously, I had never heard of a guy with bunions and I had grown up believing these things were caused by the torturous, but sexy, footwear many women wear. Despite what many of you may have concluded regarding my obsession with footwear, it all tends towards the masculine; how could I have a bunion if I didn’t wear high heels?

Throughout the rest of the year the foot still gave me trouble. I tried wrapping it, buying arch supports, and even put a lift in my right shoe on the idea that my left leg was longer so if I evened them out maybe it would stop the pain. It didn’t.

It had gotten so bad in the last few months, that apart from demonstrating footwork and blade-work in the classes I teach, I stopped fencing all together. Last week I decided to see a podiatrist.

“You have a hereditary mechanical defect in your foot that causes a shift in gait … yadda yadda yadda … to sum up, you have a bunion.”

WTF!?

I blame my mother, my mother’s mother, and my father’s mother. They are the only three I know who have bunions. And while that sexy footwear many ladies wear can cause the situation to be more painful, it is, in fact, not the cause of the situation.

The doctor has recommended a procedure called by various names, but most easily found online under the name Chevron Procedure. The animation on the linked page is for a severe case. Mine, according to my doctor, is a textbook case for when you ideally want to do this surgery for the best result at the earliest time. For mine, they will be cutting the chevron (v-shaped notch like you’re cut out of a tree when chopping it down … I’m guessing Vee Procedure didn’t sound as cool) out of the head of the first metatarsal, where it joins the proximal phalange of my big toe (see fig. 1). This will effectively shorten the first metatarsal, allowing the doctor to push it back towards the second metatarsal, closing the notch on itself and correcting the defect. Then he’ll shave off the small bump that has started to form due to inflammation and calcium deposition.

I’ve decided to document the whole process. This will mostly be with pictures before and after the procedure and during recovery, along with my notes on … well, how much it fucking hurts and whether or not this insane idea of cutting my bones open and making them shorter and shifting them around actually works.

Today, at my now second appointment, the surgery date was set, for October 7th, and all the forms were signed. I was given a big Frankenstein boot (see fig. 2) to wear around. They want me to wear it around before the surgery to become accustomed to it so that I don’t have any trips or falls after the surgery. I will presumably be in this boot a while. The doctor assures me, however, that I will be walking around and weight-bearing within a week. I hope he’s taken into account just how much weight I’ll be bearing when calculating that estimate.

Look for before pictures and, no doubt, posts about my ever growing anxiety soon.