I've always loved shoe shopping. I have far too many according to my husband. It's a surreal feeling to know that I will never wear sandals again. As much as I hate socks, I'll always be wearing them. Now, I'll probably be sentenced to a life of specially made diabetic shoes.
The searches I have done for diabetic shoes online have left me very disappointed. They are downright ugly. There is nothing hip or trendy about them. They are simply functional. I think they are geared toward people a little older than me. I don't know what will be offered to me when I am eventually fitted for shoes, but from what I've seen online I am not looking forward to it. I have no idea who their supplier will be at this point. I'm going to ask if they can't find me something that is at least not old fogyish. I feel so vain in saying that. I'm not ready to look old.
It's funny how I've always taken my shoes for granted. I've practically lived in Crocs for several years without problems. I wore those little slip on sneakers and I ended up in this spot. I guess I should learn from that.
It will be another hurdle to get over. It will be kind of a stab to my ego. At least I have the rest of my foot and can hide the fact that I don't have a toe in my ugly shoes. I am thankful for that.
I say that I will be able to hide it. I do think, however, that my husband and his family have told everyone they know that my toe was amputated. I could have done without that. I would have rather it been private. They could say I had emergency foot surgery or something like that. I guess it's good gossip to spread. I'm sure I'm simmering in the rumor mill as we speak.
My sister-in-law is so dense that she asked me if they would put a fake toe in my special shoes. I tried to explain that I thought a mold would be made of my foot and they would go from there. It's hard telling what is flying from her lips to people. The family considers her as a talented, educated woman. Excuse me while I barf.
The in-laws are really wanting to see the wound. Hinting. No freaking way will I let them look. As odd as they are, they will probably want a photo shoot. This is a no paparazzi zone.
My mother-in-law keeps sending me cards saying to call her if I need anything. It's nice of her to offer, but I swear the last time I talked to her on the phone it felt like an interrogation. It seemed like she was talking to me from a list of questions she had made before she called. Maybe that's the only way she knows to do things. I probably shouldn't let it irritate me.
I keep telling myself that this too shall pass.
CW
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