“Why run, when you have learned how to fly?”
Living with a nerve injury is a constant dialogue between the mind and a limb that often refuses to listen. My journey with monoparesis began in the Intensive Care Unit, where my ankle lay completely motionless. Doctors promised gradual recovery, but for a long time, nothing happened. It wasn’t until a second surgery—in a different hospital—that they discovered my sciatic nerve was being pinched by a surgical implant. Once that pressure was released, the pain subsided, and one day, with immense effort, my foot flickered. That tiny movement was my first victory.
At one point, while I was still dependent on crutches, a doctor told me: “Stop looking for surgical solutions. Just focus on finding the right walking aids.” I am so glad I didn’t listen to him. Sometimes, I imagine him seeing me now—walking independently—and I can just picture the look of pure shock on his face.
- The Sensation: An Eternal “Numbness”
According to my EMGs, my tibial nerve is the most affected. The sensation is identical to that “pins and needles” feeling when your limb falls asleep after sitting on it for too long—except it never wakes up. I have more sensitivity on the inner side of my foot and almost none on the outer side. I cannot move my toes, save for a slight twitch in my thumb. Moving the foot from “inside-out” remains my greatest challenge. While the constant tingling has decreased over the years, it still flares up during rest, often haunting my sleep. The only thing that provides momentary relief is massage.
- The Hidden Danger: Why You Must Protect Your Foot
This is perhaps my most important piece of advice: Watch your foot like a hawk. Because nerve conduction is impaired, tissues do not regenerate normally. A simple scratch or a blister you can’t even feel can escalate into a nightmare.
In my case, a small callus became infected without me noticing. It turned into osteomyelitis—a bone infection that cost me a year of agonizing pain, redness, swelling, and unsuccessful rounds of antibiotics. It was only after finding the right specialist that the issue was resolved through a resection of the joint of my fifth toe.
The Golden Rule: I never walk barefoot, except for the few steps out of the shower.
Water Safety: I always use swim shoes at the beach.
At Home: Most people with drop foot cannot wear flip-flops or open-back slippers — they simply fall off. I use full slippers (pantoffles) that stay secure on my foot.
- The Evolution of Support: Finding the Right Shoe
The Brace Era: I started with a basic strap-on orthosis to ditch my crutches, but it dug into my skin. Later, I moved to a carbon fiber brace that provided a “spring” to my step. The downside? It acted like a rigid insole, and when my foot inevitably swelled after hours of walking, the shoe became a torture chamber.
The Breakthrough: After my surgery in Cyprus, I felt strong enough to ditch the braces. I still limp, but I am free of aids.
Barefoot Shoes: Despite the standard advice for stable soles, I discovered that barefoot shoes (minimalist footwear) work best for me. High-top versions offer the best stability. It’s a trial-and-error process — don’t stop searching.
- The Mental Map of Every Step
Walking is no longer an automatic process; it’s a strategy.
Terrain Management: On uneven ground, it is now a habit to scan a few steps ahead. I have to plan exactly where to place my foot to prevent it from folding or rolling. In my haste, I have sprained it several times by not paying attention.
The “Fast” Limp: If I walk slowly, the paresis is barely noticeable. But when I speed up, the limp becomes pronounced. I instinctively lean on my healthy leg, which has become incredibly strong—I can now hop or stand on my tip-toes using only my good leg.
The Spine: Compensation leads to back issues. I try to consciously move my pelvis and “spring” through my gait to keep my spine aligned.
- Social Armor & Self-Image
People stare, and people ask. When asked why I limp, I say simply: “I have paresis.” Most people feel awkward asking more, but if they do, I explain that my nerves are disconnected and part of my leg feels “artificial.”
I still dance. I still play ball with my child. I might not move like I used to, but I refuse to let my emotions be sidelined. I still care for my appearance, and despite the limp, I don’t lack attention or confidence.
Closing Strategy
Do not let your health specifics define your personality. We are not our diagnoses. Every day I challenge myself—I chase my child, I take long walks, and I push the limits of what “should” be possible.
Perspective is everything. I don’t need to run, because I have learned how to fly.
If you have any questions or just want to share your own journey, please leave a comment below. I’ll make sure to respond to every single one of you – we are in this together!
You can read my whole story in the link: The Journey