Thursday, January 24, 2013

My Feets (used to be) Too Big and Too Bumpy

I broke out today.  Post foot surgery.  Hostage to my couch and living room.  Me?   Immobilized? Crazy, laughable nonsense!  Around 2 days in I made my way upstairs. The third day I found my compression boot and was at least partially mobile, but cautious.  I did stay indoors and I didn't drive.   It's been 17 degrees with a windchill of 20 below, so the indoor thing wasn't tooooo hard to abide.  (An earlier post made reference to a Universe informed prediction from a feel good website suggesting this was going to be my break out year.   I'm hoping this is not what was meant.)   

It's a week after surgery and I have my first post op check-up today.  What's a girl to do?  I just couldn't interfere with my son’s swim practice schedule.  I tried slightly to reach out for a ride but I guess I'll have to drive myself.  Wooooooohooooo Hot Damn!  I'm free!!!    My son came home to give me his car.  Mine is at the body shop getting it’s deformity, or hood, repositioned from the cab crap shoot that closed out last year.   I tell him I'm just going to try it out, if I'm ok I'll pull over and switch, not wanting to over do it.  This is the first time I'm driving his car ever.  And the first time I'm out of the house, in a week.  Let's just say I'm a little giddy with excitement.  His car seems to be just as giddy with excitement.  Loose knobs, wiggly flasher adjustment, loose steering.  Now I can't pull over because the giddy excitement and the loose knobs have me holding on tight as I take the curves all wide and loose. I'm a little afraid to step on the brakes too soon,  what with the wound and the stitches and the strict orders not to use my foot.  God, is it thrilling to be out of the house and driving! 

I drop him off at practice and make my way to the doctor’s office.  I feel a little deceitful grabbing the crutches and hobbling into the office- but it's not like I'm standing in front of the office with the crutches and a tin cup.  And it’s almost Lenten season, I need something to confess.  I'm a little worried about the x-ray or the pain that might come from unwrapping and poking around at it.  It looks pretty good.  In the scheme of things.  I suppose.  I'm not a good judge.  I don't like feet much.  Earlier this year, the first day of school in fact, one of my returning students was so excited to see me she jumped up to hug me and landed, squarely on my big toe.   She's a handful, that one.  I guess I got a toeful that day in exchange. By the  weekend, the entire toenail came undone.  Just came right up and off as though it was a press-on. Full. Intact.  And now 5 months later, its still not replaced.  It's kind of green and navyish.  Shredded around the edges.  And then there's the bunions.  And the corns.  And the toes that bend a couple of different opposing ways. 

I was stripped of the illusion of pretty feet when I was around 9.  I was at the local pool with my best friend and after noticing my wet foot prints she stopped and laughed and pointed and said - "What's wrong with your feet?!!"  And laughed some more as I looked from my feet to my foot prints to her feet.  As though I didn't realize I was a green eyed purple people eater with hooves, that's how I was looking and feeling as I was trying to calculate when and how and why I never noticed before.  But not really.  I looked, I thought my feet were lovely and I said "Maybe something's wrong with your feet.  Did you ever think of that?"  I imagine after saying that I might have looked down and slightly to the right with my hand on my bikini covered hip.  The way only 9 year old girls can respond to their best friends, before hopping or skipping or smoothing my towel out to put in maybe 3 minutes towards sunbathing time.   But I heard her words and took them in and I started noticing until I could look no more at other’s feet, or my own shameful,  disfigured pair.     

I decided to get my left foot done a couple of years ago.  It hurt for a while after, a lot, causing me to temporarily regret having it done. After a while I didn’t much notice it.  I suppose that meant it heeled OK.  I'm an avid hiker and last summer I started realizing that my right hip didn’t seem to move quite the way it once had, and I started noticing that if I hiked for a long while that  right hip seemed to get pretty pissed off at the rest of me.  I started running a couple of years  ago, too.  My right knee would every now and again sort of decide it wanted to find a different way to go, not liking to always have to go in the same direction as my feet.  Kind of like when you are holding a 4 year olds hand, comfortably, and you don't quite notice that they are lagging behind or not paying close attention, but just as a car turns the corner you find yourself yanking that 4 year old hard and straight. And they look at you with fright, at their first  lesson in the realness that they are not the center of the world and just maybe you weren't kidding when you said “I put you into this world, and I can take you  out, little man, unn hmmm”.  Well except that my right knee started yanking my entire body mid run, hard and straight, stopping me in my tracks.  So a few of those right knee getting too high and mighty moments were enough to let me know maybe if my beautifully, ahem, bunioned foot was operating at full capacity and not acting all weak and sorrowful- my knee and hip could pull my caboose across  a couple more mountains- like 23 or so.

As I sit in the waiting room with my crutches close by, and the guilty knowledge of not really using them, I start to think up all of this foot stuff.  I decide feet are just ugly.  I don’t feel too badly here in this opinion.  It’s not like I’m really putting myself down or trying to hold off a pity party.  I don’t get fetishes.  Period.  But a foot fetish?  OK to each his own.  I do start to feel a little guilty pleasure recalling how, not so long ago, I had seen someone’s foot and I actually starting thinking it sort of matched his character.  This much is true.  I really had that thought.  Some girls go for tight abs or buns or even hands.  But this guys feet?  They were beat to crap.  Hold on now.  I know I said they matched his character.  It worked like this for me, they were beat to crap, and unapologetic.  They were lived in and they looked like they had covered some real miles.  REAL miles.  The kind that could beat the crap out of someone.  But then, there they were, visible and unashamed and ready to go a few more miles.  I liked that.  Right out and OK with it.  Take it or leave it.  Of course it’s off beat. I know this.  And off the beaten trail.  Like my knee, and my take on the world.  And maybe it was an odd thing to share.  I lost myself for a moment or two.

So what I was thinking when I first got into the waiting room was “Why would anyone become a foot doctor?”  But maybe, feet have a way of telling a lot about a person.   Maybe another way to get to know someone.  Or maybe feet aren't so bad.   I just hope the doctor can’t tell I haven’t been a very good patient when he looks at mine.

I got my walking papers.  Cleared for take off.  Running begins in six weeks.  I’m free!  WoooooHoooo!  And the foot guy?  Yeah, well, I might have been a little too off the beaten path for his appealing, I mean tired dogs. And I'm freeeeeee!  WoooHoooooo!

A few years ago I saw Five Guys Named Moe.  I had a belly laugh hearing Fat’s Waller song, Your Feets Too Big.  My feets was always too big and too bumpy.    It’s always good to know we’re not ever alone in our flaws so I included the link here.  

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