When my primary care doctor recommended I see a foot specialist, I felt no urge to protest. I hadn’t had any major issues with my feet for a long time, so I was likely overdue for a check-up. The appointment was set, I went and met my new best friend who would help my feet carry me into my golden years in good health.
She examined my tootsies and prescribed a cream to help with dry skin, and I immediately began using it. Over the time I’ve been applying it, my feet have never looked better, and for that I’m grateful.
However, any time you use something to get rid of one problem, other problems can take their place.
Anybody who watches prescription drug commercials here in the US and New Zealand (the only two places in the world where they are allowed to air on public TV networks) knows that the most common side effects of most prescriptions are headache, diarrhea, and abdominal pain. Other side effects we often hear about are pain at the site where a medicated injection is given, tiredness, or even thoughts of taking oneself out of the picture permanently (usually grouped under “thoughts or actions,” as if one who is past the ready and aim stage and are ready to “fire” whatever end means they plan to employ are going to interrupt it to think “Gee, it might be that new medication”).
My side effect is that my feet are so devoid of the protection from that dry skin, that today I managed to kill my heels. My better shoes, used for trips to the theatre and more mature activities which call for leaving the sneakers at home, betrayed me by not only leaving color residue on my nylons, but chafing both heels to the point of blisters. I needed to walk around like that this afternoon, then come home and apply the giant-sized adhesive bandages to my poor aching peds. It will be days before they are healed.
My heels are healing.
Which leaves me with an interesting quandary. Do I enjoy soft feet, or do I allow for the protection of calluses? How will my new doctor take the news, I wonder. I certainly don’t want to give up nice shoes, but considering years of the awkward growth of my wide feet (which makes shoes expensive), damage from pointe ballet in my youth and weight gain in old age which can put a burden on those important transport body parts, maybe I need to compromise.
Fortunately I got enough walking done that I won’t be at a deficit on my weekly step count, but boy are my feet sore. No marathons in my future.
Oh, and as part of my day’s routine, I picked up two new pairs of shoes.
And the circle in the life of my feet comes around once again.
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