the feet of a 26 year old

Every December for the past six years, I have seen a foot doctor. One of many possible complications for persons with diabetes is foot problems that can lead to foot amputations. Annual foot inspections are the protocol. And my primary care doc has dutifully referred me to see a foot doctor every year.

Two years ago, the foot doctor I saw that year said "You have the feet of a 26 year old."  I thought it was a silly thing to say. Not offensive. Just silly.  Maybe a tad infantilizing. I liked the guy. He and I had a great conversation about going gluten, sugar and dairy free, which I had just started that year.

One year ago, I made my annual foot doc appointment, only to arrive and find a 'new' foot doctor. The 'feet of a 26 year old' had retired and been replaced by a female. The 'new' foot doctor actually trimmed my toe nails. She told me I didn't have to see a foot doctor annually since my feet were in such good condition. Once every other year, she said, was enough for someone with my feet. No silly remarks from her!

Shortly after that 'new' foot doctor, I saw my current endocrinologist for the first time. Doing her due diligence, or whatever doctors call a first-exam with a diabetic protocol, she insisted she see my naked feet, even though I had just seen a foot doctor and the record of that visit was visible to her online. She was looking at the record while I bared my feet.

As I removed my shoes and socks, I told her 'the feet of a 26 year old' story.

When my endocrinologist beheld my youthful feet, with a note of surprise in her voice, she said "You do have the feet of a 26 year old. Your feet are in great shape."

Hearing three doctors in a row note the very good condition of my feet, I filed this data in the back of my mind.  I don't see many other bare feet. Well, actually I see a lot of bare feet at the pool and especially in the shower room after swimming but I don't really look at people's feet. I'm looking now.  I thought my feet were normal and, based on my unscientific survey of gals in the group shower at my pool, so do many.

Then I visited my baby brother last winter. He has hammer toes, frequent blisters on his feet, trouble finding shoes that don't cause blisters which break and bleed. He is also diabetic, although a type two, not a type one like me. His constant foot sores are just the kind of thing that lead to serious foot problem, including amputations, for diabetics.  I don't think he has annual foot doctor visits. I don't believe he gets any foot care and he clearly needs some. His curled up toes make it almost impossible to buy shoes that do not cause sores on his feet.

As I reflected on my brother's foot problems, I remembered that our father, also a diabetic, had the same hammer toes my brother has. I remembered our dad had lots of foot problems but he saw a foot doctor all the time. I never saw my dad's feet red, blistered and bleeding, as my baby bro's feet were last winter.  I suggested he buy some mole skin for his blisters. He had never heard of mole skin.  As I recall his painful feet, and he stands on his feet to earn his living, I wince all over again. Plus I worry about my baby bro's potential for diabetic complications and his feet.

Seeing my brother's complicated toes reminded me that in college, my sister had to have foot surgery for the same kind of foot problems our mother had had. And our mom had had the same surgery more than once. Our mom had endless foot problems that were very different from our dad's. Genetically, I guess won the lottery of healthy feet.  I believe most of my five siblings have serious foot challenges.

Ruminating about the fact that everyone in my family of origin but me has, or has had, significant foot problems, allowed me to understand that having feet that look and feel exactly the same as they did when I was, say, 26, is a blessing. A lucky break.

Now, if only I had the knees of a 26 year old.  Neither of my parents had stiff knees that made stairs a rising (pun added for silliness) challenge. My maternal grandmother did. Once in awhile, when I find myself mid-stairway and my knees a-creakin and aching, I think of my grandmother and retroactively feel empathy.