The Foot Story

Also known as the Story of The Periwinkle Crocs That Wouldn't Go Away

One day, in the course of cleaning our toy room, I dropped something heavy and spiky on my foot. I realized as I watched it hit that it didn't really hurt. Curious, I bent down and poked at my foot and realized I'd lost feeling in a portion of my foot and leg. I remembered that this was an inevitability when my auto-immune disease reached stage 2. So I called my Immunologist's office, and they made an appointment for 3 days out. They wanted to examine my foot and leg. Eek!

I immediately texted my hubby that I needed money for a pedicure even though I knew we were broke. He said no. (Hard to say yes when we don't have it.) So I tried to explain to him that a room full of doctors, some ridiculously quite handsome, would be examining my feet UP CLOSE in intimate detail. See, if you have a rare disease you get all these other doctors slipping into the room to see the freak up close. ;) He still said no. To be fair, he wasn't prepared for this spurt of vanity. The only pedicure I'd ever had was the day we got married. I'm not typically into pampering myself.

I decided to round up all of our random toiletries, and baby my feet and leg for the next three days. I scrubbed and scraped and walked around in comfy slippers for three straight days. At some point I decided to make a plan for appointment day so that my feet were at their supple best when being inspected by Dr. Handsome and all his colleagues.

Early the morning of my appointment I went to the Walmart by my house, and found some socks on sale. They were extra thick black athletic socks on sale for 72 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.

Yes, I realize at some point I began to only loosely grip reality.

When it was time to drive to my appointment I decided to lotion one last time, put on my new black socks, and don these 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 cutest, most expensive looking sandals with a slight heel 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 decided to sit in the far corner from the receptionist's desk so I could do my shoe swap. I was mad at myself when I realized I'd brought my tiny purse so I couldn't tuck away those hideous 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.

I took off one sock, and to my absolute HORROR my feet were covered in furry black ape fuzz. 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 started to get an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach, but figured time was on my side. It's a doctor's office after all. They're notoriously backed up. I figured I would wash my feet in the sink in the treatment room, and be done with it.

After the nurse checked my (unusually high) blood pressure and left the room, I ran to the sink and threw my leg up on the counter and my foot into the sink. I turned the faucet and ... nothing. Nothing came out. Panic set in.

I turned to my right, and there were little packets of alcohol wipes. I began furiously tearing them open and wiping at my foot. It was less hairy, but now stinging.

I ripped off the other sock.

A knock at the door, and in walks Dr. Handsome and 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. ridiculously handsome.

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 periwinkle crocs that wouldn't go away.

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.