Long In the Foot

Back in April, I suddenly found myself to be about a foot shorter on the right side. Strangely enough, it came after a surgeon expertly amputated my right foot. I had spent my entire life growing that foot, and in a brief morning surgery, it was gone. Suddenly I found myself without a leg to stand on. Still, I put my only foot forward, placed one foot in front of the... same foot, and started trying to figure out how to live my new normal. Well, as new normal as a one footed, green eyed, left handed, ginger can live. I may be a foot below all of the rest, but at least I'm sure footed, when I pussyfoot around.

Living without a foot that you had spent your entire life getting to know isn't all bad jokes, and good times. There are difficulties that come with it, as you might imagine. And with much difficulty comes great... increased difficulty. Gone are the days where I could just saunter up to the corner store for a Klondike Bar, and a licorice whip. No longer can I enter every ass kicking contest in the city. No longer can I count to twenty without messing up somewhere along the way. I've got one foot in the grave, and the other foot isn't overly happy about, since it now has double the very large workload.

When I replaced my right foot with a walker, I had to adjust the way that I do every single thing that I do. I can still do jumping jacks, but now I call them "fall on my ass". I can still go jogging, but it looks more like a lazy ginger just sitting in a chair. I can still stand on my own two feet, I just have to do it with only one foot now. I can still do the hokey-pokey, but when everyone else put their right foot in, I just stare sadly at my stump. I can play Twister, but don't really want to. I never did before either. So, I guess that that one may be a bad example. I can still do the Cha-Cha slide, but I hate that song, and I can't do any of the parts that require one to have a right foot. Life is all about compromise, and since that son-of-a-sea-biscuit right foot couldn't compromise with the rest of my non-rotting body, I had to cut it loose. I had to set it free.

I live by the motto of "knock me down and I'll... probably stay down." Which is to say that I try to avoid being knocked down these days. It's not that I necessarily tried to get knocked down before, but now, I actively try to avoid being knocked down. This particular Weeble will fall down when it wobbles. And though I'm confident that my newly grown stump with break my fall, I can't see a scenario where that is really a good thing. Something deep in my heart tells me that it might hurt. Luckily I have managed to skip the fall thus far. Which is good. So I have that going for me.

A few weeks ago I tested my prosthetic foot. It was weird, to say the least. Most people walk as if it was second nature to them. They walk as if they had been doing it most of their life. You don't even really think about it, you just go. When I tested that fake-ass foot, I had to think about every step that I took with that thing. I looked down and saw a creepy mannequin foot that seemed to be following my every command, except for the command of "be a real foot". No matter how I willed it to be, that prosthetic foot never became a real boy. And so I continued my back and forth, using metal bars, and trying to learn how to walk. Even if briefly. This coming Tuesday, I get to take that foot home. And then begins the scary part. The part where all of the neighborhood kids get chased by a crazy ass ginger, who had just taken his foot off, and is following them with it. And will that ginger somehow be ahead of them, like some insane, crippled Jason Voorhees? You bet your sweet right foot he will be. Because what do I have to lose? It's not like I can have two feet amputated. Hmm... shit. Maybe I can. But I guess I'll try to avoid that.

One thing that I have noticed since becoming crippled as all get out, is how inconsiderate some people can be. I now find myself needing the motorized shopping scooter at grocery stores. And while I am now free to see the world, sometimes I have to wait for that opportunity. Many times, as I have sat waiting for one of the store's four motorized scooters to be returned up front, I have watched people motor right past me, out the doors, into the parking lot, and then leave the cart in the parking lot. Leaving me sitting there with a crippled stare on my crippled right leg. That's right, my right leg stares. And remember this, my friends, when you point your right stump at someone, you have three other stumps pointing right back at you. Just think about that for a moment or six.

Now, I don't want to step on any toes here, which would be impossible for me to do at this point, but I'm thinking that not every person that takes one of those motorized scooters necessarily need them. And though I can't exactly step on any toes, when I'm in one of those scooters, I can drive over some toes. Something that my daughter found out a few weeks ago. I didn't even feel bad, as she hopped backwards in pain. She knows that she was wearing that smug, ten toed smile, and I don't appreciate that.

With all of the trials, and tribulations in front of me, and behind me, I have to maintain my strange sense of humor. If I don't, I really feel as if I might go crazy. I need to keep that old part of me, as I continue to search for my missing foot. And if I never find that thing, I know that I'll be okay. Oh sure I may have debilitating phantom pains. I may not be able put both of my feet behind my head. I may not even be able foot the bill for a three legged race. But I do have a lot to live for, and a lot to look forward to. So when you go to bed tonight, kiss both of your feet, and let them know that you love them. And if you happen to see my asshole of a right foot, please tell it to go to Hell. I don't need him, and I promise you that we shan't work together, ever again.