Scar Tissue

Facebook did the thing today where it reminds you who you were nine years ago. And nine years ago today, I was parked in a chair a lot like the one I’m in now, getting the stitches out of this exact same foot.

Here’s the wild part: that 2017 surgery was practically a spa day by comparison. All they did was tuck a small piece of hardware into my midfoot, on the big-toe metatarsal, to nudge the bone inward and head off a world-class bunion before it could form. That was the whole job. One little bit of metal near the end of the incision. You’d never guess it from the scar, though. Based on that gnarly zipper, you’d assume they swapped out my entire skeleton.

Which brings me to a public service announcement.

Warning: I’m about to show both feet, in all their post-surgical glory. If you’re not here for foot pics, this is your exit.

Last chance…

For real. No jump-scares, but no takebacks either. Last chance…

Still with me? Look at the difference in those scars. On the right is today’s foot, four weeks out. See that faint patch about halfway down? That’s where Dr. Stein went back in, evicted the 2017 hardware, and gave me an actual bunionectomy this time around. The real picture — the one from inside the foot — lands in about two weeks, and something tells me it’s going to look a wee bit different than a single screw. Side note, and I refuse to be humble about this: the scarring at four weeks post-op looks 🔥.

In other news, we pulled one of the wedges out of my boot today. I’m now a quarter to half an inch shorter on that side… in theory, anyway, since standing on it is still very much forbidden. As I’ve mentioned, the wedges come out slowly to stretch the new tendon they snaked up the inside of my ankle, coaxing it into the job before I start loading it up. Full honesty: I may be occasionally letting the foot kiss the floor for balance, and I am absolutely sneaking in some gentle stretching every morning as part of what I’ve come to call PT with Travolta. I’m a firm believer in never starting physical therapy too early… especially when it’s led by a man in spandex. Rowr.

And the quiet victory I’m proudest of: most days now I can sit at my desk for five or six hours without my foot ballooning up. If you’d seen what this stretch of recovery looked like last time, you’d understand why that sentence gets me a little misty. It has me feeling genuinely hopeful that partial weight-bearing might be on the table in two weeks. Universe, I’m asking nicely: please don’t let me down.

Nine years, two surgeries, and one very well-documented foot later, I’ve decided the scars are just receipts. Proof this thing has been through it and keeps showing up anyway. Same foot, same chair, same stubborn optimism — only this time I’m rooting for the next photo to be an X-ray.