After gimping about for more than a week, I finally made the trek to my doctor's office. I show up on time (miracle) and in just a few short moments, in she comes. She looks at me, then back at the chart in her hands and once again up at me, this time her expression revealing a bit of confusion. "Tee, what brings you in today?" She asks.
"Oh, my left foot is bothering me." I pick up my leg and point to the area in question. "So, I thought I better rule out a hairline fracture or something."
"Uh-huh." She responds. "So, you show up in 3-inch heels?"
I looked down at my shiny white patent wedges. "Well, yeah. I have a client after this." Everyone knows you show your best face to clients, especially when you're masking an injury or illness. At least that's how we do it in the South.
"Of course you do." I distinctly detected an eye roll.
I pointed to the troublesome spot again. "Last Thursday, I was vacuuming and kicked the bed frame, I don't know if you can see it or not," I began.
"You mean the red protrusion there on the outside?" I might be mistaken, but I could swear there was a sarcastic tone applied to her question. "Come on." She exited, placing my chart on the counter. "Let's get that x-rayed."
Three frames later, I'm back in the small prison-like cell that all patients invariably kill valuable time in.
She re-enters. "It's broken, as you know. Will you wear a boot if I put you in one?"
"Yes." I say with complete conviction. Then nothing; she's just staring at me blankly. I shift my eyes left and right, re-focus on her face. Nope. Still nothing. Just that stare. I think for a minute. "Yes. I will wear it until I feel better. Then, I'll probably start forgetting to put it on."
"That's what I thought. So, we'll order you a post-op orthopedic foot boot. I want you to be off that foot more than on it. You'll need to cancel that client. You can see them again once you're wearing that shoe."
"Wait. Are you talking about the ugly, velcro, blue thing people wear after foot surgery?" She nodded. I burst out laughing. "That's not a good look." Again, that blank stare. She wasn't budging on this one.
"Just when you're planning to go out."
"That's not gonna happen. I'm not going out with that on."
She studied my face. "Okay, it's either this for the next three weeks or you could possibly suffer long-term, permanent damage and may not be able to wear your heels again."
What?! Was she serious? Without heels on, people don't even know I'm in the room. I'm not exactly an average-height girl and I prefer dress-up to dress-down on most days. She had me. And she knew it. "Okay. You win." I begrugdingly conceded.
Moral of the story? Housekeeping should only be done by licensed professionals and is WAY too dangerous for a layman like me. And if it compromises the ability for girls to wear great shoes? Fix it. No matter what.
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