In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.
At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Weebles Don't Wear Prada
Wednesday. On the itinerary a visit to the foot doctor to order shoes and then upstairs to the eye doctor. Both appointments for Ma.
Ma was rushing to get ready and I told her we had plenty of time. The appointment wasn’t until 10:30 and then we’d go upstairs to the eye doctor.
“No, the eye doctor cancelled the appointment,” said Dad.
“When?” I had been with him two weeks ago when we went upstairs while Ma was having her feet checked to make this appointment so Ma could get her eye drop prescription refilled.
“I don’t know, but it was cancelled.”
“Did they reschedule?” He blinked at me like an owl.
I could hear Himself’s voice echoing in my head. Never trust appointments made by Weebles.
I found an old appointment card with the eye doctor’s office number.
“Yes, I want to check on an appointment for Ma. Is she scheduled for today? She is? At 11:30am. Thank you.”
Dad just shrugged.
The medical center parking lot was filled to capacity. They must have been running a sale. I offloaded the Weebles at the front door and cruised four circuits of the lot. As I’m in the holding pattern, I was thinking eyes and feet, eyes and feet. That lead me to a joke The Brother told me. What’s occularassimatosis? Dunno. It’s when the nerves of the eyes are crossed with the nerves of the a…butt which results in a crappy outlook on life.
At the top of the fourth circuit, I spotted a handicap spot. Great! Just as I was making the final approach, a weeble zipped into the spot. They can barely walk, but they sure drive like bats out of hell. I called the poor woman all sorts of names in as many languages as I could think. That was my space, damnit! Occularassimatosis, indeed.
A circuit of the main lot, and the far employee lot yielded bupkiss. Back to the medical building lot. At the top of the circuit, I saw another handicap spot opening up. I sat at the top of the loop, gunned the engine and pulled in on two wheels just as the driver cleared the space.
I poked my head into the foot doctor’s office. Standing room only so I told Dad, I’d wait in the lobby waiting area and settled in with a book. The door opened and closed and weebles filed out. A few minutes later, more weebles came out. I went in.
Ma had just finished. She was standing at the receptionist desk frowning at three pair of athletic shoes.
“But I wanted dress shoes!”
“I want dress shoes too,” piped up another weeble lady in the waiting room.
Ma wanted to see other shoes. The doctor gave me a help me look. I shrugged, but tried for the Gipper.
“These are your choices.” No strappy shoes for you!
She looked at the doctor as he took the next patient’s chart.
“What about the New Balance shoes. I want those.” She pointed to the case where he had samples.
“They don’t make them any more!” he snapped. He grabbed the shoe from the display and tossed it in a box.
“But I want those. They really help me.”
“Ma, New Balance is the name of the shoe company. They don’t actually help improve your balance.”
She scowled at her three choices. “I want white.”
There were two white shoe choices. White with putty trim, and white with lavender trim. The remaining shoe was black on black. All had deeply grooved soles more like tires than soles.
“I’ll get the black. I want a Velcro strap.”
The doctor was heading back into his office. “No! The Velcro strap wouldn’t be good for her! She needs her shoes to be tied securely.
I didn’t tell the doctor that Ma doesn’t tie her shoes. Once the shoes are tied, she just kicks them off and steps in. After awhile, the shoes aren’t any more secure than they would be if they were held by Velcro loops.
Resigned to have no strappy shoes, Ma turned towards the door. The other weeble lady frowned in sympathy. No cute shoes for you either.
And an amusing note. On November 4, 2026, I had an appoint with the same foot doctor Ma visited. No cute shoes for me, either, and I didn't have to shell out $500 for custom orthotics.
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