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Lee's Summit, MO —
Have you ever had a moment where with complete clarity you realize, with 20/20 hindsight, that your actions probably weren’t in your best interests in the general plan of life?
I did – last week.
I tottered – literally – off to my wonderful foot doctor with a bit of an ingrown toenail problem – well, four of them, if I was to be completely truthful.
He is a very nice man, a very serious man, and I wonder why anyone in their right minds would want to be a foot doctor, but I suppose if his only other choice was proctology, I guess he made the right one.
But I am grateful he did, as this man knows feet, let me tell you.
But back to my recalcitrant toenails – two on each foot, the big toes and their rebellious neighbors – the doc gave me a couple of options. First, he could grind the offending bits down to give me some relief – gee I hope you’re not eating your oatmeal right now – or he could go the surgical route and rid me of the problem forever.
Not being a fan of things vaguely medical, I decided to go for it and get the problem over and done with. I was then given the option of just doing one foot at a time, at which point I opted for both hoofs, as the likelihood of getting me back for another round of torture was approximately nil.
Oh dear, I really hope you’re not munching on your Cheerios, really I am.
So there I sat, with my darling Sir being ever so supportive at my side, my Kindle in hand, as I was poked with anesthetics till I think he could’ve removed wisdom teeth, and thence prodded for what seemed a lifetime, until my toenails were given a very stern talking to and had promised faithfully to shape up.
Since then, it’s been just a whirlwind of fun, having to soak my tootsies twice a day for 20 minutes a throw, thence re-bandaging till I’m blue in the face, realizing I am making Messrs. Johnson & Johnson a small fortune in my purchase of Band-Aids.
I know it will all be worth it in the end, and I will be yet again eternally grateful to my lovely foot doc for doing a fine job.
But I’m bored now. It’s only been four days of my three week soak-fest, and I am thoroughly fed up sitting like a lump on a log and spending a good hour out of my day on my blessed feet. And then I end up with the bandages moving till I swear I could pick them out of my armpits, so far have they shifted, and I’m just frankly not a happy camper.
Patience, as you might have guessed, is not one of my virtues. As it is, on workdays I’m going to have to get up at 5 for my morning ritual, and I can see Miss Annie (Nine-Day-Wonder) Dear is not going to be a good patient.
So Frankenhoof, or Hobblelong as Madam calls me, is going to take her dignity and go off to wallow in her trough of soapy water. If you’ll excuse me.
Annie Dear lives in the Lakewood area of Lee’s Summit. You can reach her at anniedearkc@hotmail.com.
Have you ever had a moment where with complete clarity you realize, with 20/20 hindsight, that your actions probably weren’t in your best interests in the general plan of life?
I did – last week.
I tottered – literally – off to my wonderful foot doctor with a bit of an ingrown toenail problem – well, four of them, if I was to be completely truthful.
He is a very nice man, a very serious man, and I wonder why anyone in their right minds would want to be a foot doctor, but I suppose if his only other choice was proctology, I guess he made the right one.
But I am grateful he did, as this man knows feet, let me tell you.
But back to my recalcitrant toenails – two on each foot, the big toes and their rebellious neighbors – the doc gave me a couple of options. First, he could grind the offending bits down to give me some relief – gee I hope you’re not eating your oatmeal right now – or he could go the surgical route and rid me of the problem forever.
Not being a fan of things vaguely medical, I decided to go for it and get the problem over and done with. I was then given the option of just doing one foot at a time, at which point I opted for both hoofs, as the likelihood of getting me back for another round of torture was approximately nil.
Oh dear, I really hope you’re not munching on your Cheerios, really I am.
So there I sat, with my darling Sir being ever so supportive at my side, my Kindle in hand, as I was poked with anesthetics till I think he could’ve removed wisdom teeth, and thence prodded for what seemed a lifetime, until my toenails were given a very stern talking to and had promised faithfully to shape up.
Since then, it’s been just a whirlwind of fun, having to soak my tootsies twice a day for 20 minutes a throw, thence re-bandaging till I’m blue in the face, realizing I am making Messrs. Johnson & Johnson a small fortune in my purchase of Band-Aids.
I know it will all be worth it in the end, and I will be yet again eternally grateful to my lovely foot doc for doing a fine job.
But I’m bored now. It’s only been four days of my three week soak-fest, and I am thoroughly fed up sitting like a lump on a log and spending a good hour out of my day on my blessed feet. And then I end up with the bandages moving till I swear I could pick them out of my armpits, so far have they shifted, and I’m just frankly not a happy camper.
Patience, as you might have guessed, is not one of my virtues. As it is, on workdays I’m going to have to get up at 5 for my morning ritual, and I can see Miss Annie (Nine-Day-Wonder) Dear is not going to be a good patient.
So Frankenhoof, or Hobblelong as Madam calls me, is going to take her dignity and go off to wallow in her trough of soapy water. If you’ll excuse me.
Annie Dear lives in the Lakewood area of Lee’s Summit. You can reach her at anniedearkc@hotmail.com.
