Recently I was getting fitted for orthotic inserts in my running shoes when the doctor asked me how my bunion surgery was. I inherited many wonderful things through genetics… but bunions was not one of them. I have fairly long scars down the tops of my feet, so even without me telling him, he knew. I very quickly answered, “fine” without even thinking about it. I have relatively little pain in my feet and hardly ever think about the 2 surgeries I had when I was 18. The scars don’t even bother me, in fact I’d gladly take them over having the actual bunions which I think looked way worse.

But in reality I almost lost my foot. That surgery wasn’t “fine”. My right foot was casted too tight causing my swollen foot to start dying off. I didn’t know, since I’d never broken a bone before, what a cast should feel like. But apparently it shouldn’t be an 11 on the pain scale. The skin turned black and started dying, and then the nerves died too. I had compartment syndrome.

Specifically thinking about that surgery, it was almost terrible. We were furious with the doctors; she didn’t properly do her job and it almost cost me my right foot. I limped around for 6 weeks on crutches terrified if I came down too hard on my broken and uncasted foot I’d have to have a reconstructive surgery for that bone. 8 week later I had surgery for the left foot, and because I’m sure the doctor was worried I might sue her ass, I didn’t receive a cast for that one.

But that pain and near disaster isn’t even what I remember as the worst part of that surgery.

The worst part happened after the compartment syndrome and two surgeries were completed. I wanted the screws that held the once broken bone together taken out of my right foot, as I thought I could feel them when I rubbed the skin over the incision. It was the most sensitive area of my foot, making it so I never wanted a pedicure, or to wear shoes with a hard top that might touch it.

The doctor agreed to take the screws out, even though she seemed to think it was pointless. Instead of going under for this surgery, which was minor, they put a block in and a curtain up so I couldn’t see my foot while she cut on it. Unfortunately I could still hear everything the doctor was saying.

“Why is there so much blood!”*

At this comment, I started crying. I was going to bleed out. I was going to die. I could feel the pressure of the knife cutting what felt like 8 inches up my foot.**

She pressed down,”Is this where you feel the screws?”

Through sobs, “Yes.”

“Well they aren’t there” and she starts scraping the knife along the bone to signify to me that there is nothing there. Just knife, running along smooth bone. The sound of the knife sharpening along my exposed bone was too much.

I. Was. Freaking. Out.

Trying to distract myself, I glance up at the TV in the corner of the office. It’s a cooking show, and they’re demonstrating how to cut up a chicken. The fleshy limp chicken gets cut in half by the hosts huge knife. “That’s my foot,” I think. Being cut open by this evil cooking show watching doctor. Who watching a Emeril Lagasse while cutting into another humans skin??

The screws were removed, about an inch higher than I thought I felt them. I left the office with a tear stained face and probably scared all the other patients in the waiting room. My foot is still sensitive where my phantom screws are, which is probably a result of the nerve damage.

*Notes: She made this comment because the torniquet came loose and blood started coming out of the new incision on my foot. My dad, who sat with me during this incident, told me later it was, “like 2 drops”. But I still maintain I could have bled out.

**Note 2: The scar might be about an inch and a half long, but if felt like at least eight inches of cutting.