There’s a condition I call “old-people feet.” Circulation decreases. Skin dries and cracks like parched earth. Toenails turn to stone. While families of fungi homestead the territories south of the ankles. It’s not a pretty sight.
Old-people feet might not always stink but having the condition, does.
So when my husband’s feet developed raw fissures in the heels, I insisted he drive those feet to his dermatologist’s office without delay. David complied and returned home with three recommendations: (1) Use a mega-power moisturizing skin lotion, (2) Use a prescription anti-fungal cream, and, (3) Wear plastic bags on his feet at night. Yes, that’s what I said. Plastic bags. The type I always grabbed from a roll when purchasing veggies in the produce section of my local grocery store. Obviously, with David’s size 14 stompers, I’d need the “celery-length” style.
Before bedtime that night, David applied the lotion and cream. Next, he slipped each foot into a plastic bag. Then he put on a pair of socks to hold the bags in place. The tops of the sacks still showed, like ruffled turtlenecks on two shirts. We entertained ourselves by improvising lame jokes about bags, baggers, bagmen and sweaty feet.
“Has the FDA,” I added, “approved those bags as a medical device?”
“Will the government,” David countered, “demand a medical device tax from Safeway?”
Finally, we went to sleep.
A couple weeks passed. David’s therapy remained the same. Lotion and cream three times a day. Bags at night. Trips to the grocery store replenished our bag supply. He no longer mentioned having pain in his heels when we walked the dog. A promising sign.
This morning he proudly displayed his bare heels after a shower. No raw wounds remained. The affected skin appeared smoother, too. And THAT was a very pretty sight.
Now, at our house, sweaty feet rock.
Warm wishes,
Laurel Anne Hill (Author of “Heroes Arise”)
