An example of crisp, clear communication from . . . a podiatrist?

Compile a list of professions that require crisp, clear communication, and podiatrist isn’t likely to be on that list. Well, since yesterday, it’s on mine. Right up there with journalist, attorney, preacher, and teacher.

I’ve always appreciated doctors who excel at packaging diagnosis and treatment options in layman’s terms. But the guy I saw yesterday for nagging toe pain was one pithy physician. In fact, of all the people in his office with whom I came into contact, he was the most pleasant conversationalist. His speech was concise, confident, humorous, and laced with metaphor. By the time I left his office, I had fully understood my problem, thought through the treatment options, and scheduled surgery. To be fair, I had already done my research on the Internet before I saw him. It was, however, encouraging to receive confirmation in such a clear and memorable fashion.

About two years ago I noticed some discomfort in my left big toe after jogging. I just wrote it off to age and the fact that I’ve been running on concrete over half my life. The pain has escalated recently, however, so that it hurts even to walk. After my GP ruled out gout, he recommended a foot specialist.

The podiatrist took a set of X-rays and performed a thorough hands-on exam of my left foot, including a range-of-motion test. First, he explained what I was seeing on each picture. Some pretty nasty stuff! My big toe joint was almost completely filled in with calcium—unlike the other joints, which had plenty of space to move. And growing up and back from the joint was a wicked-looking bone spur. The only thing I can think to compare it to is the dorsal fin of a shark. “That thing is not only hindering movement, it’s probably pressing up against the ligament that runs over the top of the toe,” he explained. “So, you’re getting both stiffness and pain.” He provided the medical term for all this, but that didn’t really matter. It’s basically arthritis of the big toe joint, it hurts like the dickens, and it’s fixable.

So he laid out the options, both non-surgical and surgical. Orthotic inserts, cortisone injections, etc., would manage the pain in the short-term, but structurally the joint would continue to stiffen, and the spur would continue to grow. There were two surgical options. The first was what the doctor called Woodworking 101. “We go into the joint,” he explained, “we take some files and chisels, and we chip away at that spur, clean out the joint, and restore normal movement to the toe.”

“Sounds fun,” I said.

He explained that it would be a day surgery, with a local anesthetic and a Michael Jackson cocktail (I know, twisted but funny). Option 2 was a complete toe joint replacement. “Only advisable for the most severe conditions, and you’re not there yet,” he said. “Besides, while that gets rid of the pain, it permanently limits motion, so you probably wouldn’t be able to run anymore.” He added that surgical option number 1 was a common procedure, and that I would be running again in eight weeks after surgery. “You might have to do it again in 12-15 years, based on my experience,” he said. “But this is probably the best option to get you back to a normal life.”

So, Woodworking 101 it is. I’m scheduled for surgery later this  month. A shame that it’ll be during the holidays, not to mention my vacation time, but I’ve met my insurance deductible for the year. Might as well get ‘er done now.

What’s the point of exposing my metatarsals to the general public? It’s to show once again how important it is to be clear, crisp, concise, creative, and memorable when you communicate—no matter what your profession. You might be an expert in your field, but most of your readers (or clients, patients, customers, etc.) probably aren’t. Sure, it also helps to be good at what you do; no one wants a podiatrist who can turn a phrase but can’t trim an ingrown toenail. But make yourself understandable to those outside your circle of expertise, and you’ll only add to your success.

Gotta run (hobble, rather). I need to go practice for my post-surgery convalescence, which amounts to reclining in front of the TV, snapping my fingers in the air, and shouting out my favorite foods and drinks. There will be lots of people hanging around our house for the Christmas holidays, so I should have plenty of waiters and waitresses. So far, my family isn’t buying in to my grand vision for recovery. They say that if I’m too demanding, I’m likely to be served an extra strong Michael Jackson cocktail.