A Tale Of Two Bunions
Chapter 1. Hole-y Shoes
My Deformed Bata Canvas Shoes
“Aiyoh, why so fast got holes already?”
That’s probably the earliest memory of my bunions. From early primary, they quickly bore holes through the canvas of my Bata school shoes, to my mother’s despair and exasperation.
I don’t recall being hampered in Haig Girls, nope, I was fine jumping on the buttress roots of the great rain tree. I also landed well, not an ankle twist but just a second of sharp pain there, from jumping from the first storey of the school block to the grass below.
I fell a lot as a kid. Mum (in disbelief) declared that I couldn’t walk on flat ground. As I grew up, I also fell into drains, and then rolled down escalators. But I don’t think these events could be attributed to my bunions, nor to my other less perfect parts.
In primary three, we took off our pinafores and lined up in our blouses and bloomers. We were to be inspected by visiting nurses. They looked fierce and formidable, starched in white. While I often liked to be infront, having a name starting with K was helpful in these cases. I could learn from those ahead of me.
I was worried and a little scared to be scolded. Those days I didn’t fancy a good shower at all. Mum always magically produced evidence of dirt (gaogueh) by rubbing off my skin. Guilt tripping didn’t work on me but now I regretted it. I was really afraid of being shamed in front of my classmates.
As we shuffled towards the nurse, I saw the nurse wordlessly, unceremoniously tug at the front of each girl’s bloomers and peer inside. Just for a millisecond. What was she looking for? Was she sniffing for body odour? Did I shower yesterday?
My turn came and went.
Oh I’m supposed to be talking about the discovery of my deformities. At another nurse station, we were asked to bend forward to touch our toes, and a cold metal was placed on our back. Apparently I had a curved spine of 11mm (I may be making this inaccuracy up 40 years later) and needed follow up checks.
Chapter 2. I have bunions, hear me scream.
The Bunions Shapeth their Shoes
“What are bunions?”
Was this even a legit question in a job interview? The HR chap looked expectantly at me. “Oh, if you don’t know then you probably don’t have them!” I quipped.
Bunions. They are a foot deformity that stick out like a sore thumb, except that it’s more like a second thumb. And when I tried squeezing all of that into my Bata BM2000 for secondary school, or espadrilles from Printemps or new white reeboks for Junior College or shiny black Mary Janes from Florence for Auditor-ing, or Kenneth Cole pumps for Controller-ing, or blue suede lace ups for Lecturer-ing (all of my most favourite shoes), I got painfully deformed shoes and pink bulging bunions which screamed needles and needles.
The Bunion Scream
Many-a-time I abruptly paused mid-stride in the middle of a street, as if I lost my mind; when the amygdala in my foot goes off, I can only freeze. Those beautiful cobbled streets in South France were the worst triggers. A typical vacation routine: By day I hobbled, and by night I faced retribution.
“It only happens to ladies.”
No lah, that’s inaccurate. I didn’t hear a question, but it needed responding to. Cannot like that say.
Recently, I learnt from my would-be surgeon that my bunions were not the root cause of my discomfort. They were merely symptoms. Apparently, in their baby making, my parents had given me loose ankles and tight calves. The bunions I made myself, by walking.
My father has flat feet. My mother has bunions. My younger sister has bunions. Although it’s not so important to drag out the evidence, it’s very interesting to illustrate the pervasiveness of bunions in the family!
My Family’s Bunion Tree
Explains why there aren’t any dancers or athletes in the family!
So, will I pass the interview? Well, they can’t fault me for not making a full disclosure of my health history! And I’m very much in the pink of health!
TBC in the next chapter! - I was adviced by a kind reader to indicate this. Thank you, you know who you are, my fellow bunionite ( let’s us call ourselves this from now on?) and bunion operation mentor 😉
Chapter 3. Crouching tortoise, hidden hunchback
Crouching tortoise hidden hunchback
“What happened after you were diagnosed with scoliosis?”, my chiropractor asked.
Nothing. After three annual checks at the hospital, I was summarily discharged. The curvature had not worsened. At the grand old age of 12, I was also deemed to be “no longer growing.”
I probably didn’t realise what effect that had on my adolescent aspiration to be a Singapore Girl. I probably felt quite smug, maybe even gleeful, that I had been gifted the licence to slouch on. Such helpful authority to hold against my parents passion at posture-shaming me. Whenever I was caught slouching, they would administer a firm slap to my back in an attempt to exorcise the “Kiao Gu!”* spirit that was apparently choking me.
Fast forward 40 years, in my Chiropractor’s office, he is shaking his head with disappointment, maybe also disbelief? “Every decade with scoliosis without any intervention will see it worsen. They went through so much trouble to diagnose and they just let you go like that.”
And then I was introduced to me. I reunited with my old friend, the “mild scoliosis in the thoracolumbar spine” that swayed left and then right and then left. I got acquainted with the “loss of normal lumbar lordosis” in my lower back - I was not curving enough! I was flat! And I said hi to the “reverse cervical lordosis” that caused my head to feel way heavier than it does.
Seems like I had tracked down the causes of my perpetual body and neck aches for the last 15 years. Obviously, outside of my interests and MBTI profile, I hadn’t known myself well at all.
Also seems like my parents did quite a good job with the slouch spirit after all. Luckily, they didn’t in their over zealousness cause me to cough out my (quite-perfect) pitch and sense of rhythm!
*Kiao Gu, in Teochew or Hokkien, is derogatory for hunchback. Literally it means bent tortoise.
Chapter 4. A bunion op is not a cosmetic surgery.
Before I met my Orthopedic Specialist two months back, I had considered bunion surgery twice before - at 24 and at 46.
At 24, I was paying lots for vanity, with excruciating pain. It was very important for me to wear nice shoes that matched my outfits and occasions. The bunions hurt me but it was far more painful for me to look at them. They were blistering barriers to my footwear ambitions. Hence, bunion surgery was very attractive to me. I pictured myself slipping into any footwear I desired, like Cinderella, like Pretty Woman when she went on her shopping spree.
But after the consultation, I gave it up. I think I couldn’t admit that I was that vain. Or perhaps I was too scared of the long and painful recovery. But I believe the largest factor was - there was no guarantee that the bunion wouldn’t recur.
At 46, my foot wear profile had long flattened out and widened out (read: Aunty), and I paid for anything that promised comfort. Alongside these expensive lies I bought, I sought non-invasive methods of reducing my discomfort, improving my gait. I swore by my ultra thin bunion corrector, practiced yoga, used essential oils to quieten my aches. When the 2nd specialist I sought out appeared nonchalant, standoffish and almost disinterested, I turned to a highly-rated podiatrist who was attentive and empathetic and helpful.
The podiatrist presented new info about my body: my right leg was about 1cm shorter than my left leg. What? How could I be PK 1the whole time and not know it? It was a shocking revelation that I had long short legs!
I practically swallowed the menu of solutions he offered and its accompanying price tag. I also threw out all of my shoes, including the new beautiful white Cole Haan sneakers. A pair of dark blue and green wide (huge!) Hokas became my only shoes. My hideous Hokas and new orthotic insoles corrected my problems, but I felt like Mickey Mouse.
With these lifestyle changes, my bunions stopped hurting. They didn’t stop growing larger but I no longer felt the level of pain I had before. I stopped experiencing a painful “pebble” in between my second and third toes. I also stopped feeling affected about the ugly shoes.
But nothing lasts forever. Not peace, not beauty and not bunion non-invasive solutions.
Cue Dr Y.
Within an hour with the patient and affable doc, I decided he was my man. He affirmed that my bunions were not that bad, yet, but they were bad enough. The big toe was no longer respecting the rest anymore. With ageing and arthritis, the invasion couldn’t be avoided.
The bunions were just symptoms. What caused them are 1. Loose ankles. My feet pronated due to the loose ankles. This caused me to be flat footed with no arch. The inward pressure pushed the big toe towards the second toe. The bunion is actually the top part of the tilted joint. 2. Tight calf muscles. These affect how I walk and how my feet worked.
I had so many aha moments in one hour. I was convinced this time - I didn’t want to face gnarled toes and pain from walking. And this time the proposition was different: the doc was going to fix the root of the bunion issue to stem any recurrence.
The operation
For my right foot first, one foot at a time:
- Bunion scarf and akin ostéotomy - Dr Y called this “carpentry” work: a zigzag cut through the cross section of my big toe, slide it to upright it and shave off he part of bone jutting out. Stick a nail through to hold this broken marriage down.
- Gastrocnemius release - Dr Y said since I wasn’t an Olympic runner or professional dancer, I didn’t need to worry about it.
- Implant a titanium stent in my ankle to hold it up nicely, arrest the pronation, improve foot posture.
Post Op
A day after the op, I was discharged. My foot was in a bandage. 2 weeks after the op, the dressing and stitches were removed.
In between, I sat a lot, with my swollen foot up. No pain, just very swollen. I scooted around on my swivel chair. I showered with a LimbO bag to shield the wound. For each of the two visits to Dr Y, I wore my expandable “Louis Vuitton” sandal on the right and Hoka slides on the left.
At 2.5 weeks, I can walk slowly and not for long. I can walk up stairs normally, but not going down. My operated foot remains swollen but it has come a long way and each day I feel an improvement.
In the meantime, the newly repositioned big toe on my bunionless foot seems to be shunned by her other four toe members. And my two feet look mismatched, like they belong to two different people.
After and Before
Chapter 5. Baby Steps
Mismatched foot wear
Today, my bunion-less right foot is four weeks old. Although far less swollen than before, she is like Cinderella’s step-sister compared to my left foot. She is simply too puffy to fit any footwear other than an oversized hotel bedroom slipper or the assigned post-op sandal with adjustable Velcro straps. Combined with Mum’s walking stick, the Clockwork Orange look gains me some sympathy points.
To celebrate her coming of age, we took an X-ray.
After and Before
Dr Y presided with restrained pride over his baby’s progress. He observed the big toe’s improvement in flexibility and growing strength. He noted that the stent was nicely embedded in place and that there was no pain from it.
Dr Y assured that the continued swelling of the foot was as expected. And that the numbness around the 7cm long scar - where my bunion used to be - was not at all surprising since nerves had been cut and they needed time to reconnect.
Most significantly, Dr Y gave a quiet nod to driving, but “only for short distances, not to Malaysia”. He added sternly that before driving, I must first test my ability to stomp on the brakes. Yes Sir!!
And so, off she goes: My corrected right foot, learning to walk, before she runs in two months.
The sexier left foot watches on, contemplating her turn.
Article reproduced with permission from Jo K.
