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Loading platform on the right rising to shoulder height; BMW's wait like steeds parked diagonally in front. Two slender men briskly walk across the street, heads bent in typical Portland winter weather, a fine mist was wafting in the air, not really enough to make a rain coat worthwhile, much less an umbrella.
Fine beads of moisture gradually accumulate on my wool sweater. I walk toward my dentist's office and notice that I am walking effortlessly. Silly really to notice ones gait; the clip, clop of the black Italian shoes with leather soles I had purchased on sale at Barcelino. Not speedy walkers like my Rockport's, but they tap out the pace on the cobblestones. Some of the streets remain cobblestoned despite the massive makeover of the industrial district into the Pearl. My dentist's office is on the second floor of a remodeled warehouse, massive ceiling timbers, an open floor plan with brightly abstract flat art on the walls and sculpture on pedestals, refinished, straight grain, worn Douglas fir floors.
I was going to be late if I didn't pick up the pace these last few blocks. The metronome of my heels quickens. I again watch my feet, I notice how easily one goes in front of the other. I can't even tell by sensation, which foot had the operation. Was it the left, the right? The right — I think.
Down the street to the left is my favorite Italian dallying spot, Piazza Italia. Daniella, Gino and staff provide background music with their Italian voices. On a given day in the summer, several languages may float in the air in the tiny piece of Europe transplanted to Portland for my pleasure.
It really is amazing to think about one's feet, how well they work - when they are working.
A man zips down the street on what looks liky my old rotary mower. It is a Segway People Mover. Ride share Flexcar autos are parked in their special slots.
Really odd, the difficulty in paying attention to how well the human body can work or even how well one part of the body can work. Just the distractions of the city pull my mind from my feet, where several weeks ago, I could think of nothing else.
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Squeezing, it crept up my leg from the bottom of my foot. I could pick my foot up and get it into a position where I barely noticed it, but that really wasn't practical for walking. At night, in bed, I roll and move and put my leg out from under the covers - nothing touching it - getting a bit cold but not feeling anything finally. What a delight! Then rolling slightly left or right a searing pain shoots up from my foot and the search for a new position begins.
Getting out of bed in the morning, I grab my leg with both hands and swung the rigidly held limb down to the floor. Standing on the heel is tolerable. I waddle crossing the room. To dress, I sit down humbly on the floor and gingerly pull a sock over my foot. I slide pants on while seated, careful not to touch the foot inadvertently. Once downstairs, I'm not coming back up. Distances greatly expanded, everything seems far away. Do I really want to get up and read that magazine on the shelf across the room or is the book in my hand good enough for now?
I had an elective operation on my foot a few days earlier. The discomfort was quite minimal for a few days or at least I ignored it. Each day though, it grew more noticable, sneaking up on me, panther-like. This was not the "missing the nail with the hammer" pain, explatives careening from the mouth. This was a sneaky tightening, a noose around my foot, a firebrand touching lightly, then pressing deeper and deeper into my foot.
It was, in a way, not a very severe pain. I really didn't think I needed to fill the pain pill prescription. It was a distant pain, way down in my foot, just reminding me of its presence. That reminder would increase 100 fold if I put weight on my foot. However, by about the 5th day, the reminder was so constant that I could think of almost nothing else. It entirely occupied my brain even though it nowhere nearly approached other sharp pains I have experienced.
Finally Jody made me take an Ibuprofen - well, actually 4 of them. Within the hour, my foot had receeded into the distance. I was back paying attention to my work. The pain was not severe, but was such a strong distraction that I could concentrate on almost nothing else. It was like a virus in ones computer, bringing processing to a complete standstill - locking up and requiring a re-boot.
Three weeks later, I had a second operation and was a bit more prepared for the monster lurking down in my foot. I took a pain medication each morning and, though limping, I found the pain more distant. Less of my mind was consumed with the sensation.
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I arrive at the dentist's office. It is difficult to realize how pleasurable it is to walk. Health is difficult to grasp until you lose a piece of it.
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