A date with Doogie Howser, MD

For the past nine days, I’ve been fantasizing about what my date with the podiatrist would be like. The referring doctor described him as “young” and said I would “really like him.”

Of course, I interpreted that to mean the foot doctor was young and tall and charming and funny and smart. And available. And hot.

I pictured him as a young Robert Redford, like the way he was in The Way We Were. You know, thick blonde hair, crinkly eyes, killer smile. I imagined walking into the hot doctor’s office and hitting it off immediately. The room would be crackling with electricity. Suddenly, he’d look at his watch and realize we had been talking for hours. He’d shake his head and say, “I’m sorry. Looks like we’ll have to schedule another appointment. An appointment for dinner, that is.”

And then he’d pull out a pad of paper and write down the name and number of another doctor.

“I’m going to have to refer you to someone else,” he’d say. “The way I feel about you isn’t ethical.”

Um…yeah. Didn’t quite go like that. I met the real doctor this morning. He was cute, but more Doogie Howser than Robert Redford. He was young, somewhere between 30 and 39. But his braces, glasses, pierced ear and generous use of hair product made it hard to pinpoint an exact age. Or sexual orientation.

The setting wasn’t conducive to romance either. He had two posters on the wall. One was a poster of nail infections, the other featured foot disorders. Both contained very graphic and disturbing photos. Who the hell puts disgusting posters like that up on their walls? Not someone I’d want to date, that’s for sure.

Anyway, Dr. Howser fondled my foot a little bit and gave me the grim diagnosis. My foot is fucked (my words, not his). He said the nerve was so damaged and inflamed that he could actually feel it.

Then he told me he has Morton’s neuroma too. The way he said it reminded me of that guy in the hair-loss commercial (“I’m not just the president, I’m a client”). At least he feels my pain (maybe that explains why he has a huge picture of Bill Clinton in the reception area).

I won’t get into all the gory details of my neuroma. He’s going to try to treat it conservatively for the first few months with orthotics and cortisone injections. And if that fails, then I will have to have surgery to remove the nerve.

In the meantime, I’m supposed to limit “pain inducing activities” like running and cycling and walking and pretty much just standing around. Which leaves me feeling frustrated and more than a little bummed. The 2005 triathlon season is a complete write-off. I won’t be able to do any hiking either. For some people, that’s not a big deal. But for me, it’s huge.

I don’t want to adapt. I want to run and cycle and hike and walk. On the upside, the only time my foot doesn’t hurt is when I swim. So at least I still have that.