Perspective – annoyance vs. true impediment

I am now afraid to cut my toe nails.  (Stop here if this is going to igg you out).

Due to my swimming each day to remain active, my normally attractive, hard working feet are drying out.  Imagine – another vanity about to be felled !

I’ve got some weird side effect occurring from either the COPD or the diabetes (which in my case is caused by the necessary breathing medications).  Oh, joy !  Another fun thing to look foward to on this journey.

To deal with the lack of feminine accoutrements, my one vanity has been pretty feet.  I have other narcissistic tendencies, don’t get me wrong, but my girlie joy has always been to pamper my feet because I’m more like Peppermint Patty in style of dress than anyone else.  So, you can understand my aggravation when the first thing this breathing disease did was adding in diabetes to focus on my nail beds for where the medicines attack.

I can hide what’s happening to my bones and my general level of pain, appearing normal to the outside world, but I can’t hide painful feet or ingrown toenails.

I have been keeping track of the number of conversations centered around my feet, and they have increased (and not in a good way) this year.  When traveling with baby sis in March, I learned she’d had some sort of nail-ectomy to cut out the side of her toenail bed so that the ingrown toenails would stop.  Seriously?  (Shudders).

As part of my diabetes care, I needed a podiatrist appointment to test the neuropathy of my feet.  Torture.  I’m very ticklish, so I can assure you, I don’t need a $351 doctor bill to tell me my nerves are fine in my feet.  Heck, for that amount of money, she didn’t even give me a kiss and ask if it was good for me, too.  Not a speck of nail polish nor nail art to be seen.  Just stripped bare toes, a pathetic trim, and the admonition to not cut my nails short.  Seriously?  Not going to happen.

Nothing creepes me out faster than feeling a longish nail scrape against the bed sheet, demanding I get up and trim it.  Immediately.

So, following the May 1st podiatrist appointment and the instructions to leave my nails alone to grow out and “cure” the ingrown nail,  I waited.  And waited.  And waited.

The pain remained steady.  I bought swim shoes to protect my delicate digits when working against the side of the pool.  I endured.

By mid-June, I was out of patience and figured 6 weeks was all that I could stand.  I went to the professionals – the nail techs at my local salon.  Alex was a godsend.  Horrified, but not scared enough to refuse the job.  Tsking over the state of my poor imbedded big toenail, she stripped off the color and went to work.  There was blood involved in trying to put me back together with a normal nail. And, she refused me color for a week, stating that I needed to let my toes breathe.  Naked nails in the height of Sandal season, when I had to go to work and have my pedicure judged as part of the normal, “who are YOU” competition that seems to go along with co-ed environments???  Horrors.  $50 vs. $351, and I at least got a figurative buss on the cheek for my parting with cash for a desired service.

Now, let me explain that I am not your normal nail salon client.

I hate to be touched.

I’m very ticklish.

My legs and feet are often swollen, so I refuse all massage as it’s painful.

This series of restrictions is truly perplexing to the nail techs, as I want to be pampered by having my nails expertly trimmed, colored, and nail art applied… and nothing else.  Please don’t touch me more than necessary, as the stimulation is overwhelming.  Seriously overwhelming.

I saw Alex on Tuesday to make the appointment for today.  They stuck me with Jay last time, and while he was perfectly competent, I don’t like strange men – even a gay man – to touch my feet.  Just another of my personal iggs.  So, I didn’t have any pain on Tuesday, and thought I’d be fine to set up today’s appointment so that I’ll be all set and my toes will look good for next weekend’s wedding.  I even stripped the nail polish off on Wednesday night so that my nails could “breathe” prior to this appointment.  (And in the hope to NOT trigger another polish ban.  I suck at painting my own nails but will be forced to do so if Alex won’t agree to applying the color expertly for me)…

The dress I’m wearing needs a flat sandal vs. a pump with a heel since we’ll be walking outdoors in the Santa Cruz mountains in unknown terrain; and, since semi-formal for a wedding also means some sort of party shoe and not just flip flops.

But, it was really sad to learn that my toenail polish fetish is also going the way of everything else as I’m aging.

Onychorrhexis is not for sissies !  (That’s old age impacting one’s toenail beds, for those too lazy to look it up, LOL).