The Foot Story

Or The Periwinkle Crocs That Wouldn't Go Away

Recently, while cleaning, I dropped a heavy spiky toy on my foot. Watching it hit, I realized it didn't really hurt. Curious, I bent down and poked at my foot and noting I'd lost feeling in a small portion of my foot and ankle. I remembered that this was a possibility when my auto-immune disease reached stage 2. So I called my immunologist's office, and they made an appointment for 3 days out to examine my foot and leg. Eek!

Thinking of multiple doctors examining my foot, but knowing I couldn't afford a professional pedicure - I rounded up all the random exfoliating serums, soaps, lotions, and snake oil I;d been saving for such a time as this. For three days, I babied that foot and leg. I scrubbed, scraped, and glided in comfy slippers. I decided I needed a plan for appointment day so that my feet were at their supple best for the doctoral inspection.

Early, the morning of my appointment, I went to the Walmart by my house and bought cheap socks: extra thick mens black athletic socks on sale for seventy-two cents for the pair. I was thrilled. All morning I lotioned my feet and kept them elevated so they wouldn't be swollen when I arrived for my appointment.

No, I did not heed the warning signs.

When it was time to drive to my appointment, I lotioned one last time, pulled on my fluffy black foot protectors, and donned a pair of hideous periwinkle crocs that my mother had sent me for Christmas.  I figured that the holes and airiness of the shoes would keep my feet from smelling by the time I arrived at the doctor's office. I also brought along my most expensive-looking sandals from the back of my closet to put on once I arrived at the doctor's office.

Arriving in the large waiting room, I checked in and sat in the far corner away from the receptionist's desk and behind the pillar so I could covertly swap my shoes. I'd forgotten to plan for hiding and storing the the offensive crocs that I had never before worn in public. I didn't want to appear that I'd made any effort with my feet and shoes (because how ridiculous would that be?) so I put them under my chair and covered them with a magazine from the table.

Then, I took off one sock, and to my absolute HORROR my feet were covered in furry black fuzz. My feet looked like a caterpillar needing a cocoon to mature and beautify them.

The new socks had shed and melded together
with the lotion on my feet
to create a gooey sticky layer of fur
that was not to be moved.

Immediately upon my discovery, the nurse called my name and brought me back to be seen. I had an uncomfortable feeling in the bottom of my stomach, but I figured time was on my side. It was a doctor's office after all, a notoriously late one. I figured I'd wash my feet in the sink in the treatment room, and be sitting pretty before the first student doctor popped in with their antiseptic smile.

Immediately after the nurse checked my (unusually high) blood pressure and left the room, I ran to the sink and hiked my short leg up onto the counter and hopped until my foot went into the sink. I turned the faucet and ... nothing. Nothing came out. The sink was ornamental..

Panic set in.

I turned to my right, tiny packets of alcohol wipes. I began furiously tearing them open and wiping at my foot. Less hairy, but now red and stinging.

I ripped off the other sock.

A knock at the door, and in walks Dr. Young Handsome & Carefree with three of his immaculate colleagues.

I have my foot in the sink (that doesn't work), my leg on the counter, a stack of hairy alcohol wipes, and an ape foot. I began giggling, a little hysterically. "New socks" I tried to explain.

"Ah." - Dr. YHC

Another knock at the door, it's the receptionist.

"Mrs. Roe you left your shoes in the waiting room." "Me? No, those aren't mine." "Are you sure? They were under your seat, and the other woman in the lobby thought she saw you wearing them."

I looked longingly at my gold sandals blingy sandals (with a slight heel) as I accepted the musty periwinkle crocs onto my lap.

I learned some valuable lessons that day.

1. Never take off your socks in public.
2. Don't be vain.
3. Most importantly, never EVER accept a pair of shoes from your mother you wouldn't want to be caught dead wearing in public.



1 comment

Jesse Armstrong said...

4. Bring a bigger purse.
5. Lotions and the sock. No.