Ninja Moon Boot Day
I have just returned from the chiropodist, where I have dutifully ferried my father. He has Charcot’s foot (and will he give it back? No, worse that a cat bringing you dead vermin. I mean another man’s foot!), a degenerative bone condition which means the bones in his foot (his, charcot’s, who knows…) are like porridge and sink to the bottom. It is more funkily called roller foot.
Due to it still being ‘active’, he now has an air boot. Please picture a boot slightly bigger than a ski boot that must be inflated with a small pump. I kid you not! I think it looks like a moon boot, except in black. A Ninja moon boot, if you will.
All goes well until the chiropodist (Leslie, who has been looking after my Dad’s feet for 41 years) starts to root around the nail bed. My Dad seems unfazed, but I can spy blood. Not a huge amount, it is true, but enough to be called bleeding by the medical profession. My hands go clammy and I can feel the gorge rising in my throat. I leap the dismantled moon boot and mumble something about mobile phones and sisters.
I am now safely in the library, and, although I am fazed by the amount of flip flops and bare feet on show, I have not actually vomited. I think today shall be called ‘The Day Rachel Developed Another Phobia.’ or Ninja moon boot day.
Hope yours is a good one, and celebrate it by good foot care and well fitting shoes.