Shoes

I know I haven't mentioned going to the Doc's much the past little while. My Pod Doc that took such excellent care of my once really pretty feet, up and left for parts unknown. (No, really they were once a foot fetishist's dream...long and slender, fine boned with delicate ankles...nails covered with bright red nailpolish called "I'm not really a Waitress" (which I still wear...just not on my toenails anymore). Because the once lovely feet are also aflicted with the hateful Rheumatoid Arthritis, they are no longer a dream...good heavens, nightmare, now that might cover it. The first time I was told I had RA, and that the ankle bones in my left foot were mostly shot, I sat on my bed (carefully tucking my legs beneath me while I still could) and cried. The left ankle was already affected, swollen and ugly, while oddly the right foot was still absolutely untouched. I hadn't been able to wear proper shoes in ages. I tried, but it was a no go. So, I lined up all the beautiful shoes I have collected over the years, the gorgeous Italian high heeled Sandals in a lovely reddish brown leather, strappy and sexy, the lime green silk heels that I wore to my son's wedding...the black leather boots that hugged the calves of my legs like a lovers hands, the ugly steel toed boots I once wore with my uniform that were strong enough to save my life, but gawd ugly (and oddly comfortable.) I held the red satin pumps (oh yes, I love me some high heels...) with the wrap around my ankle and tie in the front satin straps and wept because not only could the swollen ankle not accomodate the lovely straps, but my balance was mostly gone due to the broken neck injury I have mostly recovered from. I cried because these shoes were only decorations now, decorating my closet mostly. I bagged them up to take to the dump, but couldn't quite make myself wallow in that much self pity, so I put them back in the closet in a box till I decide what to do with them. Yes, I was a whining ,whimpering mess who sat on her bed and cried over SHOES. I had been through so much what with heart surgery, paralysis, (when the doctors told me I'd never walk again, I laughed in their faces because I knew God would not have brought me this far to leave me lying on the ground. I knew it.) The night of the world's noisiest pity party was the night I saw a show about the young men and women who are returning from war with their arms and legs so sadly damaged and missing and some coming home in coffins that I knew...I'll never cry over anything so insignificant as a pair of shoes ever again.