There’s a recurring theme in my blogs that might not resonate with those unfamiliar with Twenty One Pilots. The title above is drawn from their latest track, ‘RawFear,’ off the album Breach.

The story of my quietest and slowest year continues… Reading the prior blogs, especially the most recent, Stuck in a Cycle |-/, will provide a bit more context, or you can jump right in either way… I appreciate that you care enough to take the time to read any of it!

Foot Injury # 1 Diagnosis Process

The foot surgery I had last year was my first ever. I consider that a blessing.

Early in 2024, a sharp pain began to surface—whenever I walked hills, climbed steps, or got in and out of my Jeep. Even pivoting side to side triggered it. The pain grew steadily worse, so I saw an orthopedic specialist. The X-ray showed a “chronic appearing avulsion injury,” interpreted as an old wound. But I had never injured my left foot.

I should’ve gotten a second opinion. But at the time, even making it to that appointment felt nearly impossible. He prescribed oral steroids and scheduled an injection. Then sent me on my way.

The shot did nothing.

Weeks later, I returned. This time, he ordered an MRI. Sure enough—it was a fracture. I’d been walking on a broken foot for months. By then, the window for natural healing had closed. Surgery was the only option.

I received a couple of screws and a bone graft. For six weeks, I was non-weight-bearing. When I finally transitioned to partial weight-bearing, my pre-existing back injury rebelled. It couldn’t handle the shift. It put me down hard.

I missed many physical therapy appointments—not because I didn’t want to go, but because my body couldn’t get there.

Foot PT Round 1

After returning to physical therapy, my foot presented another issue.
I mentioned it to the physical therapists, even to the surgeon, but it didn’t seem to raise much concern. I could not wear a shoe for months after having surgery for the navicular fracture, because my great toe was too swollen.

Foot PT Round 2

After growing frustrated with the physical therapists at one facility, I decided it was time for a fresh start. Maybe this new team would listen.

At first, things felt promising. The therapy was more involved, and I felt cautiously hopeful. But as the sessions went on, I kept raising the same concern: pain in the MTP joint of my left great toe—especially along the side and underneath, near the ball of my foot. Swelling persisted. Blood pooled at the bottom. I couldn’t wear a shoe.

The response? The toe is not why you’re at physical therapy.

I was told it was just fear—fear of becoming weight-bearing again. That pain was expected.
I have never had surgery before, and of course, I knew to expect some pain, but not in a different part of my foot with additional swelling and blood pooling on the bottom of my foot.

Two facilities down. Neither one heard me. Neither one validated the pain. Neither one acknowledged the obviously swollen MTP joint.

I reached my breaking point.

Back and Foot MRI #2 — A Two-for-One Deal

So I made an appointment with the ortho, and an MRI was ordered. I managed to score a 2-for-1 MRI special the day after Christmas—gotta love those deals.

One scan for my lumbar spine. One for my left forefoot.

Turns out, one of the two sesamoid bones in my left foot had experienced avascular necrosis—bone death. It had to be surgically removed.

As for my back? A large extruded disk at L5-S1 was pressing on the nerve root, causing radiculopathy down my left leg. Add in spinal stenosis and degenerative disk disease (DDD), and… yay. New injuries to navigate.

Foot or Back ~ Chicken or Egg…

As you can imagine, I was reluctant to undergo a second foot surgery. The complications from the first one—especially the way my back responded—left me wary.

I found myself in a dilemma: Which comes first? Do I focus on my back, or my foot? It truly is a chicken vs the egg scenario.

I sought a second opinion from a podiatrist, who confirmed that surgery was the recommended next step. But I knew that if I didn’t stabilize my back first, another foot surgery could trigger a cascade of setbacks.

So I chose to prioritize my spine. To minimize further aggravation. To give my body a chance to hold steady before another breach |-/.

Back PT Round 1

So, I went to physical therapy for my back for a few months. If you read my previous post, Stuck in a Cycle |-/, that did not fare well.

Not only did it escalate my back conditions to a whole new level, but it also worsened my foot. The physical therapists I encountered didn’t seem to believe that two injuries could coexist. Their protocols didn’t allow for complexity.

Knowing I’d soon be scheduling a second foot surgery, they insisted I do the treadmill exercise at every visit. It involved walking backwards with a third of my body weight offloaded. Even at a painfully slow 1.5 mph, it was excruciating—for my back, hip, knee, left leg, and the foot that needed surgery.

I was left with no choice.

I had to schedule the foot surgery.

And as expected, another setback with my foot triggered another setback with my back. The cycle reinforced itself. Stuck in a cycle |-/.

But wait, there’s more…

Another Foot Aggravation, NCS, EMG, Back PT Round 2

Fast forward a few months. I underwent a Nerve Conduction Study and an Electromyography (EMG) to investigate the intense pain radiating down the left side of my body.

I told the doctor I was hesitant. I knew I needed the test, but lying flat—even on a bed—was nearly impossible with my back. I came prepared with my trusted lumbar pillows. I was also concerned about my foot, having had surgery just four months earlier.

Thinking enough healing had occurred, we moved forward.

But when the sciatic nerve branch leading to the inner part of my left foot and great toe was activated, my toe and ankle jerked involuntarily. I let out a loud yelp. It hurt—badly.

They skipped further investigation in that area after that. Thankfully. But the damage had already been done.

Foot PT Round 3 and Yet Another Foot Aggravation

So now, my foot is aggravated again. My back is worse—bad enough that they finally stopped physical therapy for it, admitting it wasn’t helping.

Now I’m back in PT, this time for the foot. The orthopedic surgeon says time is the only real remedy. But the chiropractor at the facility I’m required to attend apparently has to do something. Maybe just to say he did.

I started this round less than two weeks ago. His treatment? Me lying painfully on my back—lumbar pillows in place—while he jerks my foot. I asked him what that was supposed to do. He said it would adjust a joint.

Hmm. Not sure how that computes.

Last week, I yelped with each pull—mostly from my back, a little from my foot. Today, though, the foot pain briefly overtook the back pain. I had to take off my sock and shoe and show him: This is why it hurts. He was pulling directly on the most tender spots.

So yeah—today, my foot hurts a little worse. Hopefully, not for long.

Wrapping it Up

I tell you—if someone else were telling this story, I might not believe them. I’d probably chalk it up to a defeatist attitude.

But this is my story. And the sad truth is: I’m worse off today because of physical therapy oversights, lack of validation, and procedural mishaps. I take responsibility for some of it. I know it’s not all on the physicians.

But I also don’t know how I could have advocated for myself any stronger—without outright refusing treatment. And refusing treatment could mean losing the equivalent of a year’s salary… if I ever receive approval.

I cry. Ugly cry. From pain. From frustration.

There have been appointments where I felt like I might pass out in the waiting room—pain and dysautonomia-like symptoms crashing in. I’ve had to force myself into a room with a bed, lie face down, and plead: I cannot leave this bed unless the physician is ready for me. Even when asked to vacate it for another patient.

I am not heard. I am not seen.

I live to go to doctor’s appointments. Recover. Repeat.

That’s all, folks.

I hate venting. But keeping it in is just as bad—maybe worse. So I guess I’ll do both.

I know it’s overwhelming to read, to hear, to witness. I know how I’d feel if someone told me all of this.

I pray about it.

And I need people to hear my story. Just for the chance that someone might see me. Might hear me.

There’s not much anyone can do—except pray, listen, and understand.

That’s all I need.

Because if I don’t tell someone—someone other than the physicians and team members who don’t want to hear me, other than the people working the machine behind the scenes that only make things harder—I feel like I might explode.

God is Good. And So is His Church

If you’ve made it to the end of this post, thank you. Truly. Just knowing someone took the time to read means more than I can say.

As beaten down as I feel right now, I’m deeply thankful for those who’ve reached out—texts, calls, visits. It’s true: you never really know who your friends are until you walk through something like this. There are people I thought I was close to—people I’ve known for decades—who haven’t even checked in.

But I’m thankful to now know who’s real and who’s not.

The church—friends from high school, my prior church, and my current church home—have shown up in ways that prove they’re the real deal. My current church even stepped in with a meal plan service for my husband and me. It’s helped more than anyone could know. It’s not just the relief from the “what’s for dinner” dread—it’s logistical, nutritional, financial, and emotional support. Every time we open a meal, we know where it came from. And that means everything.

I can say I’m blessed.

God’s love is so clearly seen through those who’ve stepped up to help us out.

Okay—this is the longest post yet. I’m calling it a wrap.

To think outside the parentheses, I always leave a scripture, meme, and/or music clip that inspired the title and content. Because:

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”  

— John 1:5

Source of blog title inspiration below.