Weirdness of Foot

by Jeffrey Carl Jefferis 

 

      "Good afternoon, Mr. Nichols."

       "Dan."

       "Good afternoon, Dan.  I'm Dr. Engleberg."

       "Hey, Doc."

       "So, what brings you to the emergency room today?"

       "I think I have nose cancer. . . . Wow, not even a smirk, huh? Sorry, guess I'm just a bit nervous.  Really want the mood to be lightened, you know?  You sit back here long enough it's easy to convince yourself you're gonna die."

       "I understand, Dan.  We are terribly busy.  So?"

       "Oh, well, Doc, I'm honestly not sure what's wrong."

       "I know, Dan.  Otherwise you wouldn't be here.  Just tell me what's bothering you."

       "Umm, weirdness of foot, I guess."

       "Weirdness of foot?  Really?"

       "Yeah, Doc."

       "Right.  Let's have a look."

       'Sorry, Doc.  Can't be fun touching another guy's foot."

       "What's so weird about it?"

       "Well, I've never touched another guy's foot before, but I don't even like touching a girl's foot, so . . ."

       "Dan, you're in the emergency room.  I am a doctor.  I am busy.  Stay with me here.  Why do you think your foot is weird?"

       "Oh, right.  Well, I noticed it feeling weird all day at work.  It wasn't asleep.  It just felt like it was getting ready to fall asleep, even though I was sitting at a desk chair.  It just felt heavy and tired.  I could, you know, sense it all day.  Like it was trying to tell me something.  So, when I got home and saw how red and puffy it was, I thought there was a connection."

       "Ok, Dan.  Just a few quick questions.  A history of diabetes in your family?"

       "Nope."

       "Any back problems?  Spine?"

       "Nope."

       "Suffered any recent trauma?"

       "Nope."

       "On any medications?"

       "Nope."

       "Any recent surgeries or hospitalization?"

       "Nope."

       "Any other symptoms at all, Dan?"

       "You mean besides the nose cancer? . . . Again, sorry.  And no."

       "Ok, Dan.  Using this paperclip, if I touch you with the side of it like so and that being dull, and touch you with the point of it like so and that being sharp, close your eyes and tell me what you feel."

       "Sharp . . . Dull . . . Dull . . . Sharp . . . Dull . . . Dull . . . Ha!  Sharp . . . Ha!  Sharp again.  That tickles."

       "Ok, Dan.  I'm going to move your toes forward or backward.  Tell me which way you feel it moving, if you can feel it."

       "Forward . . . Forward . . . Backward . . . Forward . . .  Backward. . . Wait, was that my big toe?  It's double-jointed.  Keep tugging at it.  It's pretty cool.  Touch the top of my foot with it.  It will blow your mind."

       "Right.  Ok, Dan.  Just a few more questions."

       "Fire away."

       "Have you prepared a living will or trust recently?"

       "Umm, nope."

       "Are you prone to anxiety attacks?"

       "Umm, nope."

       "No panic attacks in the last three months?"

       "Umm, nope."

       "Is there anything stressful going on in your life?"

       "Stressful?  In all seriousness, Doc, I find having to tuck my shirt in stressful."

       "Death in the family?  Job loss?  Major life change?"

       "No, not really.  What's with the psychological interrogation, Doc? It's scaring me more than the weirdness of my foot."

       "Well, Dan, let me ask you this.  What's your pain level right now, in your foot?  A scale of one to ten?"

       "Well, a zero.  A one, maybe.  I can feel my foot.  It just doesn't hurt."

       "Yet you're in the emergency room, Dan.  The emergency room.  Don't you see that . . ."

       "Wait, wait just a second, Doc.  I mean, I know pain is terrible. But in terms of emergency, what's worse, really?"

       "Dan, the point I'm making is . . ."

       "I'm serious, Doc.  For example, say I was sitting in the waiting room with another guy who had smashed his foot with a sledgehammer. His pain level is ten.  I'm sitting there with a numb foot that is turning red and puffy.  What's worse?  He has a broken bone.  Sure, it hurts.  It hurts a lot.  But it's temporary and it can be fixed.  My foot is numb.  I could be losing circulation.  I could be losing my foot forever.  Numb is worse than pain, Doc.  It's more mysterious."

       "Now who's getting psychological?  Look, Dan.  Take a look at this. This is my foot.  See how ugly it is?  See the calluses.  See the redness?  The discoloration?"

       "Doc, you're holding your bare foot up in front of my face.  That's weird.  And, to be honest, it's more yellow than red.  Like cigarette stain yellow.  Gross."

       "Dan, your foot is normal.  It is not numb.  You felt everything I did to it.  Every time I touched it."

       "What about the white bumps?"

       "What?"

       "The white bumps?  I have more white bumps on the sole of my foot than you do?"

       "Dan, have you ever looked at your foot before in your entire life? That's absolutely normal.  That's the tissue under your skin.  You should worry if you don't see them."

       "You're sure, Doc?"

       "Yes, Dan.  Again, I am busy.  So, again, I must ask.  You certain about all of your answers?"

       "You think I'm a hypochondriac, don't you?"

       "Do you have health insurance, Dan?"

       "Nope."

       "So, Dan.  You just spent five hundred dollars on weirdness of foot."

       "Well, Doc, honestly I found your display of foot weirder."

       "Dan?"

       "The thing is, Doc, I am getting married tomorrow."

       "Most people would consider that stressful, Dan.  You know, a life changing event?"

       "Yeah, sure, ok.  But my point is that she works for the federal government.  She has great insurance."

       "Is that why you're marrying her, Dan?"

       "No, of course not.  But, the other thing is, I am nervous about it. I'm having doubts.  But that's normal, right?"

       "Normal, Dan?"

       "Yeah, you know, Doc.  Cold feet?"

       "Oh my God.  Dan?"

       "What?"

       "Dan, I am very busy.  Be honest with me.  Are you a hypochondriac with no health insurance who is intent on marrying a girl with great health insurance only you're getting cold feet so you show up in the emergency room of my hospital complaining of weirdness of foot?"

       "Well, actually, you know . . . Doc, I don't know what you're saying."

       "I am saying that you are a hypochondriac with no health insurance  who wants desperately to marry a girl with fantastic insurance only the stereotypical yet medically fictional concept of having 'cold feet' has not only made you doubt your engagement but has landed you in the emergency room complaining of weirdness of foot prior to your marriage and thus prior to your receipt of your soon-to-be wife's excellent insurance coverage."

       "Well, uhh . . . it's not that simple . . . exactly?"

       "Ahh, really?  And how so, Dan?"

       "Well, just yesterday, she was leaving for work in the morning.  I was still in bed.  I don't have a job."

       "Of course."

       "And as she was kissing me good-bye, she told me that she had put  some leftovers in the fridge for me for breakfast."

       "Seems reasonable enough."


       "Yeah, you would think.  But you know what I found in the fridge, a few hours later when I finally got out of bed? . . . A half a bowl of cereal sealed in plastic wrap."


       "So, what?  You drank spoiled milk?  You feeling nauseous?  Diarrheic?"


       'What?  No, Doc.  My point is that it's such a ridiculous thing to do.  Cereal cant be leftovers.  And I'm marrying a girl who thinks it can be?  Shouldn't I have cold feet after that episode?"


       "Dan, if you leave in the next thirty seconds, I will make sure you are not charged anything for this emergency room visit.  If you do not leave in the next thirty seconds, I will absolutely crush and break your foot with that defibrillator hanging on the wall, and you won't have to worry about being able to walk down the aisle tomorrow."


       "Fair enough, Doc.  I'm putting my shoe back on.  But, I must say, I still think it's weird that you haven't put your sock and shoe back on.  What's that all about?  You have a problem, Doc."


       "Twenty seconds, Dan."


       "Say, Doc, mind giving me your home address?  I'd like to mail you a wedding invitation for my wedding tomorrow, assuming my clearly diseased foot is well enough to allow me to walk down the aisle."


       "Ten seconds, Dan."


       "Fine, Doc.  A word of advice, I suggest you take another gander at the Hippocratic Oath.  I came here scared and sick.  And I'm leaving more scared and still sick."


       "Five seconds, Dan."


       "Give me a break here.  Just trying to tie this shoe."


       "Your shoes are velcro, Dan."


       "Fine.  Fine, Doc.  You have all the answers.  I'll just walk out of here barefoot then.  But, you better hope, no, you better pray, Doc, that I don't step on a piece of broken glass in the parking lot."
 
       "Stop limping, Dan.  Your foot is fine."


       "I'm not limping, Doc.  I'm just walking lopsidedly, what with the one shoe and all."


       "I hate you, Dan."      

       "I love you, Doc.  I'll see you tomorrow."

  © 2010 Jeffrey Carl Jefferis.  All rights reserved. 

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jeffrey Carl Jefferis is thirty-years-old.  His work has been published, or soon will be published, in Word Catalyst Magazine, Foundling Review, and Bartleby Snopes.