My New Tendon-cy

Somewhere in this diagram is my new problem.  An injury that is almost perfectly ironic.  Those of you who check in here regularly know that I have begun this year an exercise regimen with a great personal training team.  The goal was to significantly strengthen my arthritic right knee and stave off the inevitable joint replacement surgery for at least a decade. 

It has worked.  My right knee has never felt stronger.

And, in the process, I totally fucked up my left ankle.

Only I could pull this off.

Most of my training sessions conclude with about ten minutes of being professionally stretched.  As opposed to those of you who really enjoy being unprofessionally stretched.  One Friday in July, I felt a twinge in my ankle during the calf muscle stretch.  Oh, well.  I ascribed to the theory that pains like that are only good pains.

The very next day, a friend from New York City was visiting and we trooped down to Venice Beach for a meal and what turned out to be a long walk down a long pier. 

Twinge, twinge.  Left ankle, yes, I know you are there. 

That evening was a Hollywood Bowl event and the simple act of getting there is akin to military maneuvers.  Up the long hill at a 30 degree angle.  Down the long hill at a 30 degree angle.  Steep stairs inside.

That subtle ache on my left ankle suddenly turned to raging pain.

In a move that is rare to somebody who usually is pretty quick to seek medical advice, I did nothing.

Except forego calf muscle stretching with my personal trainers.  I had suddenly adopted my father's attitude about aches and pains.

"If you ignore it, it will go away."

Yeah, right, Dad.

More treks to the Hollywood Bowl interspersed with the usual Dodger Stadium excursions.  More denial that perhaps I had screwed myself royally.  I rationalize with the notion that I was leaning more on my right leg which was getting even more stronger as a result.

Yeah, right, Len.

My personal trainers finally convinced me to get it looked at by my podiatrist.  He deemed it a common injury for a runner.

"Yeah, but I wasn't running..."

Not an issue.  He decided I had a really angry ankle tendon.  Since I had totally swept the warning symptoms under the rug, the anger had morphed from a small spat to a full-on war.  The doctor wrapped it in some support hose which looked like what my grandmother used to wear for stockings.  Plus I had some anti-inflammatory cream that needed to be applied three times a day.  This should do the trick.

Yeah, right, Doc.

Two weeks later, I was still walking around like Pegleg Bates and was fully expecting to be called into action by the new producers of the Jerry Lewis Telethon.  My follow-up visit to the podiatrist was not exactly relevatory.

"This hasn't improved."

Ya think?

Given the distinct lack of improvement, my doctor began to think that I had torn or partially torn one of those ankle tendons that comes with one of those suitably long names.  He got me one of those lace-up braces/boots that you wear under your shoe.  I asked if they came in different colors so I could always coordinate with my socks.  He also prescribed a visit to my friendly local MRI emporium.  I made the usual joke about MRI.

MRI equals "Maybe Really Injured."

Shockingly, my doctor had never heard that one.  All those degrees on your wall and you're not up on the local podiatrist humor?

I made the appointment with one of those imaging places and then got challenged all over again.

"You made an appointment for one MRI and it appears your doctor prescribed two."

Huh? 

Apparently, he wanted souvenir photos of both my ankle and the bottom of my foot.  Yes, the pain was migrating.  I told the attendant that this was no problem.  Simply do both MRIs.  Conveniently, my ankle was attached to my foot and I had both in the office that day.

"Oh, no.  You're only scheduled for forty-five minutes and it would take ninety minutes to do both."

Welcome to the world of health care.

So, I had to come back twice to get the full picture.  I was starring in "MRI - the Miniseries."  Two glorious opportunities to lay on a slab and listen to the noisiest MRI machine this side of Marcus Welby.  I resisted the urge to post them as mobile uploads on my Facebook page.

The good news, besides the stiff neck and back that resulted from my new frequent MRI status, was that there were no tendon tears in my ankle.  I simply had a severe case of tendonitis.

Wait.  I had only heard about that in the past as an arm ailment.  Didn't Whitey Ford and Sandy Koufax get that?  And how did it happen to me?  I had not attempted to throw a curve ball with my foot.

My doctor had a simple answer.

"These things happen."

After hitting the iceberg, had the captain of the Titanic uttered the same thing?  Nevertheless, my doctor told me to continue wearing the boot and applying the cream.  Done and done.  But his next words have stayed with me.

"These things take forever to heal."

As opposed to the Titanic which sunk in a matter of hours.

I've kept up with my personal training and focused on exercises and stretches that can be done while seated or lying down.  Mercifully, the Hollywood Bowl season is over so the weekly ascents up Mount LA Philharmonic are in the past.  And, over the past two weeks, the pain is subsiding.

Until I went to the last Dodger home game of the season.  For some mystical reason, the tendon was angry again.  Mad in a way that reminded me of Ricky Ricardo after Lucy bought that new hat.

I laid in bed that night.  I could almost hear the throbbing in my left ankle.  And the laughter coming from my right knee.  As if it was heckling my other leg.

"Now you know what I've been going through all these years."

Dinner last night:  Rib eye steak sandwich at Neighborhood Services in Dallas.