It's a Cruel Cruel World

I’m feeling a little unsteady. Off kilter. The ‘B’ word has entered my sphere and it’s scared me a little. It could mean the end of something dear to me. A piece of my identity really. And I am now figuring out a way that I can extend grace as long as I can before I have to succumb to the “B” word – and (heaven forbid) the egregious “O” word.

Yes – I went to my doctor today and she confirmed it.
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I have bunions.

Stop. Laughing.

If you know me at ALL you know that I’m all about the shoes. And yes, often those shoes are heels. I worked in finance for many years and my uniform was smart professional wear that included heels. For years before that, I wore heels simply so that I wouldn’t have to hem my pants. Being short is time consuming and annoying when all your pants are too long so I mitigated that factor with heels. It’s not like I never wear flats or runners – but for work or a special occasion – I typically wear heels. And, before you get all “I don’t know how you walk in those things” on me consider these true facts: Heels can be comfortable and I find it much harder to find comfortable (and cute) flat shoes.

Anyway – my doctor in her Fluevogs  - commiserated with me. She KNOWS what this means. She GETS it. So before I'm forced to wear *gulp* or... (I can barely say it out loud) or... tho... orthotics... *shudder* it's time to treat my feet to some TLC. Voltaron, anti-inflammatory's, foot massages, and these little splints to wear on my feet when I sleep. 

So, my first stop after the doctors office was the drug store. I spied the aisle that said "Athletic wraps". Hmmm...could bunion repair possibly be in the same aisle as athletic repair? I scanned the shelves and found nothing so I approached the pharmacist. "Um...do you have...uh...do you know where I might find..." (and here, I could barely force the "B" word from my lips) "...maybe you can't help me but...do you know where I can find the little splints for BUNIONS?" There. I blurted it. I half expected her to lead me to the aisle that sold canes and walkers and support hose but she walked me back to the Athletic Wraps aisle and there, tucked into a little corner was the bright yellow box entitled "Goodnight Bunions". 

I paid for the bright little box of hope and when I got home from work, I tried them on for size. Hmmm...surprisingly comfortable. While I stared at the new curve of my big toes, in walked B3. He had made a big batch of spaghetti sauce. He was also grumpy. I told him he could not make fun of me. "Why would I make fun of you?" he said with irritation. "Cuz I'm wearing these things on my feet" and I clip-clopped my way into the kitchen. "What are THOSE?" I explained they were for my uh...bunions. Sexy, right? "Sensible shoes for you from now on Mr. Paul" Mr. Paul? "Paul Bunyan!" I should have told him right there that his new job was to give me foot massages every night, but I chose to punch him instead. Suddenly he wasn't grumpy anymore because he thought he was so funny.

So - me and my sunny little "Goodnight Bunions" are going to become friends this evening. I'm off to massage the Voltaren into my foot and grapple with this new reality in my life. Spend a little time staring into my shoe closet and make some strategic decisions. I'm not relenting easily. Not going down without a fight. But if nothing else, I think I have a geriatric version of Goodnight Moon to write.

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