Miles to Go

       Early Wednesday morning I was sitting in the food court at Dallas Love Field working on this essay, in town for an MRI of my left foot and ankle. Thursday, the next day, I sent Cyndi off to join a dozen other hikers on an epic backpacking trip in eastern Oklahoma, one that I wish I could join. They’ll spend four days and three nights on the Ouachita Trail.

* * * * *

       About nine weeks ago I noticed a decided increase of pain in my left ankle. It’s been bothering me for at least three years, but during a weekend in Austin for a birthday party, it suddenly got much worse.

       I blamed it on running. I got new shoes, which were more comfortable on my feet, and my average pace improved. I started dreaming of more and longer and faster runs. Until, in Austin, I could hardly walk. Running probably had nothing to do with it. It’s more likely my ankle finally gave up the fight.

        The first time I paid serious attention to my ankle and foot in the modern era was when Cyndi gasped during a Pilates session. She was reacting to my feet. They weren’t doing well. My arches, such as they were, had dropped, and my ankle bones were tilting inward. She was worried for me.

       Cyndi’s concern over my feet goes way, way back. In fact, I once wrote about a potential conversation where I quoted what Cyndi might’ve said: "I've been embarrassed by your feet ever since I saw them the first time. Good thing you didn't wear sandals while we were dating or I might never have married you."

* * * * *

       And yet, it’s possible my problem dates back much further than that 2019 Pilates workout. I’ve had minimal arches my entire life. I never paid attention until I started running in 1978, and even then, not until I decided to replace my Stan Smith Adidas tennis shoes – leather with zero cushioning – with a pair of real running shoes. When I did my shoe research I learned how to tell if I had high arches or low arches. It wasn’t hard to figure out.

       However, those flat feet served me through nine marathons and over 37,000 miles of running. Nowadays my feet seem to be entering a new chapter of life, a common story with all the rest of my body parts since turning 60. Pieces and abilities wilt and crash regularly.

* * * * *

       Doctor #1: (as he walked into the examining room) “What did you do to yourself to have an ankle like this?”

       Me: “I have no idea. I just got worse over time.”

       Doctor #1: “Your ankle is a mess.”

       He pulled up the x-rays and pointed out a major bone that was shifted back, out of place. Also a huge calcium deposit that had built up on the front of my ankle as a result of constant stress.

       He said this deposit, he called it a glob, prevented my ankle from flexing, said it probably hadn’t flexed in years. He said when I think I’m flexing I’m only bending my foot. The ankle bones are essentially frozen in place.

       Then he pointed out my big toe and how the joint had dropped out of place. He said it’s probably also true that this toe hadn’t move at the joint in years. In fact, all the bones in my foot were in the wrong places and needed repositioning and stabilizing.

       Doctor #1: “First, we repair the big toe joint and spot weld the other bones so they’ll stay in place and function properly. Then, three weeks later, do an ankle replacement.”

       He promised I’d recover in a couple of months, and afterward would be able to walk, ski, play tennis, play golf, cycle, hike, dance, all of that. “You will love it.”

       Me: “Wow. I couldn’t even play golf before.”

       The doctor pointed out two places he said were fractures.

       Doctor #1: “When did you injure it?”

       Me: “I have no memory of injuring my ankle. Certainly no memory of fractures.”

       Doctor #1: “Either it was a very subtle injury but doesn’t look that way, or you have a neuropathy that your nerves don’t send pain signals to your brain like they should.”

       We put my name on his list for future surgery.

* * * * *

       I made an appointment for a second opinion with Doctor #2, in Dallas, a month away (the soonest I could get in).

* * * * *

       Last January at my annual checkup (when my ankle was still only an inconvenience rather than a crises), I asked the nurse to measure my height. My fears were confirmed. I was not as tall as I’d been telling everyone, nor as tall as I’d been telling myself. She measured me, using official apparatus, at 5’10”.

       I’ve told people I am 6’ for the past 45 years, which the last time I was officially measured. I was in college at the time. Either I’ve shrunk, which is a possible and likely effect of aging, or I’ve been wrong since 1977, or maybe both.

       Emotionally, 5’ 10” is at least 10” shorter than 6’.         I spend a lot of time and energy thinking about my life, to know who I am and who God made me to be. But now I’ve learned that I thought I was this, but actually was that. Not only that, but maybe I’ve been wrong about this and that for decades.

       I’m trying to adjust to this new normal. At each of my recent ankle visits I’ve boldly answered 5’10” whenever they asked my height. I’m trying to talk myself into getting used to being comfortable with the idea, trying to accept I’m not who I thought I was.

* * * * *

       Thursday night before my appointment with Doctor #3, I was laying in bed not sleeping, but mentally running through my list of concerns. I prayed for the next day’s visit. I prayed for wisdom for Cyndi and me to know what to do and whose advice to follow and all that. I prayed for clarity along the path forward. I prayed for restoration of my ankle so I can return to what I love – movement, specifically walking and hiking.

       It occurred to me that I never pray for direct, miraculous healing for myself. Why not?

       I often pray for doctors and hospitals, because that’s where I expect healing to come from, but I never ask God for supernatural healing. Lots of people do, including many of my friends, but I don’t.

       Why is that?

       I doubt I’d hesitate to pray for miraculous healing if I had cancer or kidney disease or a brain tumor. But it feels awkward to pray for something that has bothered me for years.

       Why should I feel presumptuous to pray for miraculous healing for myself?

       I don’t know.

* * * * *

       I once had a close friend warn me about my tendency to solve problems using my own strength of will. He said: Berry, you have the ability to figure out what has to happen, and that's where you have to be really careful. Because you can figure things out, there is a tendency to place God in the situation out of courtesy, but He doesn't really need to be there.” I wasn’t sure what he meant at the time, but in the years following I’ve seen his warning play out in my life over and over.

       Is that what I’m doing when I don’t pray for miracles? Leaving God out of the situation?

       I typically want to fix problems myself, on my own terms. Even better if I get it repaired in secret and I don’t have to reveal my struggle until it’s over and I’ve won, and I have a convincing story to tell.

* * * * *

       “You provide a broad path for my feet, so that my ankles do not give way.” (Psalms 18:36 NIV)

* * * * *

       And then, Monday afternoon, Cyndi told my story to Roy, her 89-year-old private yoga student. He asked if he could phone his son-in-law, who had a medical imaging company and knew the best ankle specialists in Dallas. His son-in-law said he’d get an appointment for me if I was interested. I said, sure.

       I throw that out there as if it’s so easy to change plans, but that’s hardly the case. It’s difficult for me to switch plans mid-stream, especially when I’ve spent time and energy and emotion working it out and thinking about it. Once I’ve moved past the deciding phase and into the action phase I have little interest in rethinking or starting over.

       But this time, I agreed to the change. It felt correct.

       The next day a scheduler from The Carrell Clinic in Dallas called me to set an appointment, which we did, for three days later. I was stunned at the speed of it all. As my friend Craig said, “When it’s supposed to happen, it happens.” Was this the miracle I was unable to pray for?

* * * * *

       Doctor #3 noticed a lot of the same things as Doctor #1, mainly the shift in all the bones. Also he pointed out on the x-rays where there should be spaces between bones, but wasn’t. In fact, that was the theme of every x-ray he showed me: bone-on-bone.

* * * * *

       Left posterior tibial tendon dysfunction with increased hindfoot valgus, ankle arthritis, subfibular impingement. Left hallux rigidus. Left 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th hammer toe deformity. Left 2nd crossover toe deformity. Localized, primary osteoarthritis of the ankle and/or foot. Acquired left hallux rigidus. Acquired hammer toe of left foot. Acquired deformity of toe. Severe subtalar degenerative changes of the ankle. Increased talus-1st metatarsal angle. Subfibular impingement. Plantar calcaneal enthesophyte. Enthesophyte at the Achilles insertion. A mild Haglund's deformity. A prominent os trigonum.

* * * * *

       Doctor #3 explained the reconstruction process. He suggested a Triple Arthrodesis to reset the bones with screws, and a Deltoid Ligament Reconstruction.

       Cyndi asked if these procedures were rare and he said no. He said my ankle damage was unusual, and to need both procedures was rare, but he performed both repairs on a regular basis.

       We scheduled surgery with Doctor #3 for June 22nd, one day before my 66th birthday. He said I’d probably need ankle replacement someday, whether six weeks or six months or six years later, but not until the bones grew into proper alignment. “A replacement now would just break.”

* * * * *

       One of the exercises I do with men is to compose a six-word memoir … a phrase that describes your current life and what you want your life to be in the future. For my six-word memoir I’ve adopted a phrase from Robert Frost: Miles to go before I sleep.

       I picked this phrase because I want to keep moving – miles to go – and I have promises to keep. Promises …

       To mentor men and couples

       To tell stories that put truth within reach

       To teach and speak from my heart

       To be a husband and lover and supporter of Cyndi

* * * * *

       “Taking him by the right hand, Jesus helped him up, and instantly the man’s feet and ankles became strong.” (Acts 3:7)

That’s what I’m praying for.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

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