There was a time in my life when a toe-curling experience in bed was a good thing. Sadly, not the case for the last several months. You would never know it from reading my blog but I have been crippled since October. Plantar fasciitis is the official diagnosis and trust me, any condition spelled with two adjacent “i”s is NOT GOOD.

For those who have never heard of it, it’s inflammation of the fibrous tissue on the bottom of the heel. For those who have had it, you know how much IT SUCKS. If there was a “plantar fasciitis” ribbon, I would wear it. It would be black and blue because basically it feels someone has hammered the bottom of your foot to a pulp and asked you to hop up and down on it for an hour. It’s the worst first thing in the morning. So each day as the sun rises, I slide gracefully from my beautiful place of respite in my gorgeous night gown, fully rested and at peace and….hobble to the bathroom like Igor in Young Frankenstein.

There is no silver bullet and I have been trying for 10 months to nip this sucker. Here is what I have been doing (based on directives from two very competent physicians):

  • Advil
  • Celebrex
  • Rest
  • Cortisone shot (like walking on glass BTW)
  • Heel pads
  • Night splint
  • Temporary Orthotics
  • Another cortisone shot (still like walking on glass)
  • No rest
  • Physical therapy
  • Ultrasound
  • Active Release Technique (ART)
  • Steroid patch

Every medical professional I have seen is very nice to me. But nothing is working. Yesterday at physical therapy (which I refer to as rehab because it sounds so Hollywood), I rode the bike, leaned against the wall, laid on a large yoga ball and did leg lifts, balanced on what can only be described as a rubbery object that resembles a breast while passing a bocci ball between my knees, walked backwards on a treadmill, and let my therapist dig her thumbs into the part of my heel that hurts the most (ART). Sometimes they make me pick up marbles with my toes (that’s fun) or bunch up a towel (that’s not).

Ten sessions with the ultrasound didn’t cure me so I am now wearing a steroid patch on my heel for 24 hours at a time. Positively and negatively charged for my wearing pleasure.


This is what Dave sees when he crawls into bed every night laying next to him. It keeps my toes curled back to a 90 degree angle all night long. Hot, right?


We also have this blue rubber strap thingy hanging out on my nightstand. It’s for strengthening one of the bijillion muscles that seem to need to be stronger so that I can get better. My cleaning lady thinks it’s for something else. And I let her think those things. Somebody should.


So I’m feeling a little discouraged and wondering if I am wasting my time and money walking backwards on a treadmill when I will never be cured. My BFF Alison in Ohio told me last week that she has plantar fasciitis in BOTH feet. I suddenly feel very lucky.

And there is one bright side about this condition: My boys crack up everytime I say “plantar fasciitis”. Not sure why but it never fails to push their funny button.

“Say it again, Mom!!! Pleeeeease!!!”

I love nothing more than to make my boys laugh. It almost makes it worth it. Almost.

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