How the "Tired Diver Toe" Got it's Name

This blog does not have a lot to do with Roller Derby other than that I can't play for about 3 weeks due to the "Tired Diver Toe."
Enjoy the story of the Tired Diver Toe...

How the “Tired Diver Toe” Got its Name

I’ve spent my entire life in, on and around the water in some fashion or another. Something some may find odd since I was raised in Northwestern Pennsylvania far from the coast. The first memories I have of immersing myself in the wet stuff outside of the bath tub is one sunny afternoon when I followed my older sister and her friend through the tall grass that grew on our acre of land to a body of water where they swam and I followed. I must have been about 3 years old and was “swimming” in what seemed like a large river to me just a few yards from the neighbor’s cattle who were drinking from the same water with their large pink tongues. My love affair with water began on that day.

In the years that followed I would find myself swimming anywhere I could; Edinboro Lake, Lake Erie, bacteria infested rivers that landed me in the hospital, friend’s swimming pools, the community pool, the university pool, McDowell High School
on the M.I.S.T. swim team or the YMCA. That was just the first 18 years of life. After that I would become a member of the Indiana University of Pennsylvania Water Polo Team, move to Ocean City, Maryland to live at “the beach,” move to Japan where I was surrounded by water and learned to sail and surf then to my current residence of Madison, Wisconsin…a city built around two lakes.
I did everything with water and swimming pools; swam on swim teams, played water polo, taught swim lessons, lifeguarded, trained lifeguards, managed pools, did aqua aerobics…there was no limit-except one- SCUBA diving. I’m not sure if my irrational fear of SCUBA stemmed from my first session of lifeguard training with a guy named Leo who trained us in depth on the possible fatal encounters we may have with SCUBA divers or from some other experience, but all I knew is breathing under water was not natural. It was a fear that I knew I had to conquer, because I was headed to the Great Barrier Reef and my need to see what was down there was far greater than my fear of breathing under water.

Off to the marina I went to enroll myself in the base’s SCUBA program, which I would complete just weeks before heading Down Under. As I embarked on this journey I showed no fear. I studied hard, read the book, and immersed myself in all aspects of the class. No one knew I was scared to death, and I was actually enjoying myself most of the time. The 1-foot visibility in the bay was scary, but I had learned to navigate with my compass and really I knew I couldn’t get that lost. I was fighting an awful pain in my right foot that felt like I’d broken something, yet I persevered and said nothing until we got to one portion of the training out there in the cold water of the Green Bay. My instructor said, “Now we must practice the tired diver tow.” I looked at him with relief and blurted, “Oh thank goodness it has a name. My tired diver toe hurts so badly…what are we going to do to relieve it.” He looked at me puzzled, and I was confused as well. Why wouldn’t he tell me the magical cure to make my foot stop throbbing with pain? He paused and I told him again about my “tired diver toe.” He chuckled and explained that the tow he was referring to is actually the other kind and we were going to drag our “tired diver” buddies 50 meters to prove we can help out in an emergency…hence the name, “tired diver tow.” As my foot throbs I thought, “well that is just great…my problem is unique.”
In the following months I enjoyed the most spectacular trip to Australia where I dove deep into the sea to find Nemo, giant clams, sea turtles, sharks and millions of beautiful tropical fish. I battled a pain in my foot that I fondly referred to as the “tired diver toe” off and on throughout many activities. I discovered that running was no longer a viable activity for me so I headed to the Yokosuka Naval Hospital where I was told the real name for my ailment is “Metataralgia” or an inflammation of the joints. The Doc gave me a metatarsal pad and said it will make everything better…it didn’t. I waited until I moved to Wisconsin where I saw a podiatrist who with one feel of my foot gave the “tired diver toe” a real name again: Morton’s Neuroma. I didn’t know who Morton was, but I was glad to finally have a name for my ailment. We tried inserts in my shoes, cortisone shots to the infected nerve and nothing worked. I was sick of it. I wanted it out. I scheduled the surgery for Veteran’s Day, 2008, which brings me to today. Three days after the surgery and the damn Morton’s Neuroma is no longer a part of me…it sits on my coffee table in a small vial of phermeldahide so I can keep a close eye on that nemesis.

That, my friends, concludes the tale of the “Tired Diver Toe."