I have big feet.
When I was a kid, our cats used to sleep in my father’s loafers, so I guess I come by them honestly. Another delight of aging is having your feet get even bigger as gravity mashes you downward. And it doesn’t help that after a certain (ahem) size, women’s shoes no longer offer half sizes, or that one of my feet is about a half size larger than the other. I was motivated to finally seek out a podiatrist when the top of my foot began hurting. Was it the bunion acting up, or from that time years ago when I was out taping a TV project and dropped the enormous tripod on my foot?
I always figured that I’d brought on my bunion myself (on the larger foot) by being stubborn and buying too small a shoe, but I did learn today from the doctor that I probably just have a predisposition – yay, heredity – to bunions.
I was hoping for some whizbang procedure that would magically solve everything and yet leave me with no recovery time, but it’s not to be. It would require an operation, leaving me laid up for weeks and weeks. No thank you. As she said, “you’ll know when you’re ready for it.” The way I see it, I’ll wait till the condition immobilizes me, and then I won’t mind a month or more of post-surgery recovery.
Meanwhile, I’m at least more stable than most in a high wind.