Apparently I had a fashion problem.
Doctor dx’d me with ‘metatarsalgia’, which is the technical term for “your foot hurts, and if it doesn’t feel better in a month, we’ll try to find out why”. (Fair enough: ruled out a visible break or some other quickly-diagnosable ailment, and since the other choices require massively expensive and complicated testing to detect, makes sense to see if the time-n-rest cure doesn’t fix the whatever-it-is.)
Meanwhile he referred me to his shoe guy (that is, the store where my athlete-physician shops himself), who specializes in picking out big fluffy sneakers that take the pressure off whatever part of your foot tends to get pressurized.
Wow. Magic. Went from “No way I’m walking on this thing, BAD BAD BAD” to, “Hey, look at me, I can limp and it’s okay!”.
So maybe some more days of giant fluffy sneakers and I’ll graduate to regular walking.
(Just in time to really get my nerd-mother look fully-formed before my children turn into teenagers. Would be tragic to miss out on the maximum adolescent-embarrassment potential. Maybe soon I’ll develop some kind of disorder that requires me to buy all my clothes at the same shop as my doc. Or maybe I already do that, and don’t even know it . . .)