velocity

I was finally able to quantify something that's been disturbing me for a long time.

I have Phantom Limb Syndrome.

I know that sounds strange. I know you're saying to yourself, "But Keri, you're not missing any limbs!" No, I'm not, and I haven't lost any since the last time you've seen me, either.

Here's the deal: I have an old ankle injury. Thirteen years ago, I had third-degree burns that (to put it gently) removed a fair amount of my right ankle area. I can still walk, and on a good day only the most observant person can see my limp. It healed spectacularly well, all the doctors agreed--but they also agreed they'd never seen an injury like this, and couldn't tell me what the long term affects would be, what the causes of those effects might be, or how they'd be able to treat them.

After thirteen years, I've just had to get used to a lot of weird shit going on in the right ankle area. Strange pains that come on like lightning, so strong they cause blackouts; sensitivity to heat, to the point that I can't wear socks (or sometimes can't even have a pant leg covering my ankle); strange twitches, pins and needles. Aside from the occasional passing melancholy that I'll never water-ski again, I've gotten used to it.

The one thing I can't get used to is the horrible sensation I feel when my ankle is touched. It honestly feels like someone is walking over my ankle's grave. It sends a violent shiver up my spine and makes me instantly nauseated. It's why I always look at my feet in crowds, to make sure no one gets close to brushing me as they walk by. It's why I have to wear really low shoes. It's why those shaky, erratic wheels on shopping carts are my own personal nightmare.

Here's where the explanation comes in. My husband and I were lying in bed reading, and I was getting drowsy. I was nearly in danger of dropping a library book on my face because I kept nodding off. As I was in a state of half-sleep (but still conscious), Dave rolled over to turn his reading lamp off and accidentally brushed his big toe down my foot, right along the injured ankle. Since I was half asleep, I didn't flinch away at first contact, but instead felt the very distinct sensation that his toe was moving inside of my flesh, as if he'd dipped it under the surface of a pool of water.

It was creepy, and it was horrifying, but it was also a long enough sensation that I could finally understand it, I think. My theory is that since the initial burns removed far more than just the top layer of skin, the sensation was activating nerve endings that are not supposed to feel close to the surface. Every time something touches my ankle, it feels like it's touching on the inside, beneath the surface, hence the queasiness and such. Which is why it struck me as similar to Phantom Limb Syndrome, even though I'm fully limbed. It's not that I feel a missing part is still there when it isn't, but I feel that what's there on the outside is actually the inside.

So I guess if there's a moral in this ramble, kids, it's this: don't touch my right ankle, unless you want to get kicked. It'll be a reflex, and I'll probably feel bad about it, but that won't make you any less kicked.