This thread seems as good as any to toss in my foot injury story.
Back 'round 'bout 2005 I broke the navicular bone in my right foot at Ace Motocross in Modena, NY. I landed nose heavy on the finish line tabletop and lost the bike. No flaggers, I had to get up and move my bike out from under a chain link fence. Didn't know I broke it until I tried to kick my bike. Or maybe that was the final blow...
anyway, not sure which boots. I think Alpinestar tech 5's.
If better boots would have prevented or minimized injury, watch what happened. I'll make it quick and it's still a long story.
Doctor number one sets the foot and says no problem.
Careless patient (that would be me) gets cast wet on day two by accident. Calls doctor and says new cast needed ASAP. No can do.
Doctor number two gives me a new cast and prescribes surgery to install hardware.
Surgical facility booked solid for a couple weeks and by the time he cuts me the fragment is "mush" and he just removes it.
After about a month and a half, I'm pretty much done with PT and walking without a limp. But the wound still isn't healed.
Then one day it gets really bright red and hurts. I call the doctor late on a Friday, and they say see you Monday.
I say "NO, you don't understand, somebody needs to see me today".
Doctor number three looks at the wound, takes a probe, and as if through a bowl of Jello goes tap tap tap.
"Do you know what that tapping is?"
"no."
"That's your ankle bone. You need to go home and get some stuff, then meet me at the hospital".
Friday night I'm in the hospital and the podiatry intern comes to me with the paperwork.
"See this part here about dying on the table? We don't think that's going to happen. But see this part here about amputation? You need to brace yourself that you might wake up without a foot. Sign here."
My room mate was howling like a trapped animal about his fresh amputation. "Why didn't they take it at the hip?!?" Holy shit.
Major head trip.
My sister gets me a new room with a guy who is drowning in mucus. Much better. Weekends in New Haven can get violent and stupid, so the emergencies keep my surgery on the back burner until Sunday afternoon.
Late Sunday, I wake up and check to see that great googly moogly my foot is still there!
At the first dressing change, I get to see what all the nurses call a "beautiful wound".
Image at post number 12 here:
http://www.gasgasrider.org/forum/showthread.php?t=10155&page=2
It ended up being eight nights in the hospital because once the cultures came back they found I was hosting one of the staph varieties of Necrotizing Fasciitis (aka flesh eating bacteria). So I got a PICC line installed near my bicep, snaked through an artery through my shoulder and dripping into my heart at the superior vena cava. This would allow me to self administer heavy IV antibiotics every six hours for the next two months. six and twelve, six and twelve, six and twelve... for eight weeks.
I had one visiting nurse for the PICC line, and other visiting nurses for the wound care and super-cool wound-vac dressing changes.
All this to get to the punch line. I was very lucky to get off easy like that.
My doctor in the infectious disease department told me it was rare when she could call a patient "a cure", but I had been cured. What this infectious disease specialist said to me next will stick with me forever. She said "I would never let anybody I love get elective foot surgery".
Feet are slow to heal, and a most vulnerable part of your body to infection.
Protect your feet. Wear good boots.