January 26 – “Heel”

I managed to make it through a doctor’s appointment yesterday.  In fact, it was not so bad at all.  Well, other than being patient while Doctor Junior (AKA Medical Student) did his little training run.  Actually I really don’t mind the medical students in situations like this.  There is not much pressure on them (what could go wrong?  The old dude’s foot hurts.  How hard can it be?), and they usually do fine.  And this guy did pretty well.  He asked all the pertinent questions.  Even answered a few of my own.  And he promised to find the answers to the HMO questions I had as well.  That’s where he probably bit off a bit more than he should have.  I’m not sure the insurance companies that create them understand the HMO’s.  I really don’t expect the doctors to know them.  But he gave it his best shot (which was basically asking the real doctor when she came into the room), and as a result I have a referral to see an ophthalmologist and a promise to work with my existing rheumatologist and neurologist on labs.  That will be a pretty huge help.  Means I won’t have to drive into Texas as often.

Oh, why was I there in the first place?  I have been having some trouble with my heel.  Not being a heel.  My heel hurts.  It’s not anything like nerve pain, and it’s not in a joint, so my Houston specialists are out of the picture.  Besides, I did need to establish with a primary care doc now that I was forced into Blue Cross Blue Shield’s HMO realm.  It is a lot easier to get in when you have some issue as opposed to one of those checkup appointments.  They take weeks to happen.  And I do like the lady doc I have.  She’s been around Galveston for some time now.  So long, in fact, that she used to go fishing with Warren Martin, one of the early-on movers and shakers at starting Seaside back before he died years ago.  I think our reminiscing really surprised the med student. 

So my new doc ruled out a few things, plantar fasciitis being one.  She seemed convinced that at some point I had some sort of injury that was flaring up, but plan B was some kind of bursitis.  I’m pretty sure that’s the medical insurance code for “I don’t know why it’s happening.  Put ice on it.”  Very similar to “Here, let Mommy kiss it and make it feel better.”  She did send me for an X-ray, though.  Guess where?  The pediatric clinic over by Home Depot.  I made a stop by the house to pick up Chris.  If anybody was going to kiss it and make it feel better, I was going to insist that it be my own private duty nurse.

1 John 1:9 says, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”

Father, thank you for my so called private duty nurse.  Chris has cared for me through a lot of aches and pains.  Amen.