I always had big feet, and they were always wide. A "G" in Clarks measurements, and for as long as I could fit into Clarks shoes, my feet were comfortable, although my right foot was always slightly bigger than my left. By the time I reached 6th form, I had run out of Clarks shoe sizes, so I got a pair of Dr. Marten's, a pair of shoes I still have today, 15-odd years later!

But trainers were a different matter. The DMs eventually (and painfully) stretched to accommodate the width of my feet, but after a few hours, it would start to hurt and taking them off would be a relief. With trainers, even though I only bought wide ones, the pain would start after a few minutes and continue to the point where I was desperate to remove them. Once removed, the pain would take several hours to subside, a throbbing pain in the side of my foot that no amount of massage would make better. The pain was in a bit of bone, at the base of my big toe, jutting out at the left-side. See below:

The big toe was also pressing on to the next toe. I don't if that's why, but if cycling for a long while, say an hour or more, the second toe would start to dislocate. I found the sensation quite frightening, and had to press firmly on my toes to make the pulling sensation stop. Urgh.

But I had no idea that I had a medical condition. I just thought it was a consequence of wide feet. It was only by chance that I mentioned my hurting foot to my medic friend Russ last year, and he took one look and said 'bunion'. I said, 'I don't have bunions!' I thought that a bunion was a type of corn, but a trip to my GP confirmed the diagnosis: Hallux Valgus. Later, the consultant at Lewisham Hospital added that the cause was flat foot (particularly my right-foot) and that I would need to wear insoles to correct my gait.

He explained all the risks of surgery, but also explained that surgery was the only long-term option. Did I want it? Are you kidding?! So I was put on the waiting list and I expected my right-foot to be treated in June. But instead I got a letter in December with a booking in February at a Bupa Hospital (Blackheath). I don't know under what NHS initiative this occurred, but it was going to be the same consultant doing the operation, so I didn't mind. Additionally my work commitments had shifted, so I could take an earlier date.

I arrived through the fog and on my own at 06:45, Feb 20th, and was asked to fill out an admission form, and also a form with my bank details... The bank details was only needed for phone calls though. I was taken to my room. It felt like 3-star hotel, no wards just rooms. They took me to wrong room first (oops), but eventually he found it. It was en-suite with satellite television. I was intrigued to see a menu on the bed.

Was it for me? Apparently so. I decided to be healthy and chose a Foccacia with a chicken filling and fresh fruit with Tea, which would be my lunch after the op. There was another menu, with prices, next to the bed. That menu was snacks and spirits: brandy, whiskey etc.

The nursing shift changed around 8am, and a nurse came to check my pulse (47) and blood pressure (a tad high - anxiety), and the anaesthetist came, so I told him about sickle-cell trait. He didn't seem to be bothered by that. Then the consultant came. He didn't look like the guy I saw at Lewisham (it turns out I saw either a different consultant or his registrar), but he seemed to know what he was going to do as he drew over my foot with his biro like a plastic surgeon - all very re-assuring. The nurse came back and got me to change into a gown and (too small) slippers. And I waited and waited, and waited. I was tired, so I decided to use the bed in the room and had a nap. There was a safe in the room's wardrobe, so that was OK, and I was able to phone and tell my mum the right time to come for me (i.e. don't rush - nothing happening here!).

Just after 12, I was taken down to see the anaesthetist, and the next thing is I'm waking up in my room again, with a plaster cast on my elevated foot and hmm there's some pain, but not much. This was probably because I had been given both a general and local anaesthetic. I had an x-ray taken, and some physio on how to use the crutches, and a little sandal to walk on the foot with. The base of the sandal was curved to force the foot back onto the heel.

The porter who took me around, once he found out I was an NHS patient asked me my opinion. I think he was wanting me to effuse on how much better it was than an NHS hosptial, but I didn't really have any complaints either way, I've not had any bad NHS experiences. On the way back, the lift broke, and there was no alternate lift, so we had to wait for an engineer. Then he took me to the wrong room again. But the food was tasty, the nurse visits frequent and the en-suite bathroom convenient and the room quiet.

My mum and Brother arrived almost to the minute at the 6pm I had suggested, and I was discharged with Diclofenac sodium (Voltarol) and Paracetamol. I almost completed the course of Voltarol, but only lightly touched the Paracetamol. My uncle bought me 4 bags of fruit, which meant I had a mostly fruit based diet for the next two weeks.

Unable to consume it all in smoothies and disgusting milkshakes, I resorted to recipes. The above is a fruit compote, and ambitiously, I made a massive Apple and Pear pie (8 large servings).

I saw the consultant yesterday, who cleared me for work from tomorrow, and today I had the plaster removed (the circular saw tickled me terribly, I couldn't stop laughing):

Not recognising their handiwork, they asked me where I had the cast done? ("Blackheath") Am I a BUPA patient? ("No"). Had I gone there under a patient choice initiative? ("No, I was just sent there"). I mentioned to them about the liquor menu, which made them giggle. And then the stitches came out (not as painful as I thought). Between the big and second toe, you can see the shiny end of the metal rod holding the re-cast bone in place. Apparently the rod goes through the bone! I was tempted to wiggle the toe, but I was told not to. It seemed resistant to movement anyway.

They applied a new cast, this time not made from old-fashioned plaster of Paris, but high-tech Scotchcast. I had four choices: blue, pink, white or black. I chose black. My x-ray from the private hospital was missing, so I had a new x-ray done as well, which looked OK. I've been told to go back on to crutches.

So I have another appointment on April 3 to remove the cast and pull out the rod (urk!), and that should be that, more or less. Hopefully I can start cycling again soon after.

Tags: Bunion