I don't think Imelda had a pair of these in her closet.
A dear friend once told me I look like the Statue of Liberty. He insisted it was a compliment.” You’re statuesque!” he said.
Boy, if he could see me now. My orthopedic shoes have finally arrived, and along with the wide shank for added stability, the soles of both shoes have extra padding. I put them on, and suddenly I’m six feet tall!
These are the only shoes I’m allowed to wear until the end of the month, and I’m not supposed to go barefoot, even in the house. The shoes are cumbersome, but it’s a relief to be out of a cast. Harper seems relieved, too. No more worries about being stepped on by BigFoot.
Our first venture outside with the new shoes was slightly disappointing. No blare of trumpets. Passers by did not burst into song. I’m so tall now that I hold the harness higher, so when I lifted the Harness, Harper had to adjust to a totally different angle . I commanded, “Harper, forward!” and instead of leading me down the sidewalk, Harper took me to a car parked in front of our building.
Poor little guy. For the past eight weeks all I’ve been doing is asking him to guide me to cabs! A verbal correction got Harper back on track, and we were on our way. First stop? Across the street, at Harper’s favorite tree.
The bumps on the wheelchair ramp usually tip me off we’re at the street crossing. I can’t feel the bumps through the three-inch soles on my orthopedic shoes. “Harper, forward!” We cross the street. A dip in the sidewalk used to alert me that we’re crossing the entrance to a parking lot. A mound of dirt around Harper’s tree used to tell me I could take his harness off and give him permission to do his thing. With these thick-soled shoes on, I can’t feel much of anything underfoot. So I just say a quick prayer to the Gods of pee and poop that I’m not allowing Harper to empty somewhere he shouldn’t, then lean down from my six-foot perch to unbuckle his harness. “Park time!”.
Harper circles, and once he stops, I do my best to move my over-protected foot near his tail. I slip a plastic bag over my hand and lean way down (again, from my six-foot perch) to feel through the plastic for lumps near my foot. After picking the lumps up, I flip the clean part of the bag over my palm and throw the bag away. Success!
I’m crossing my fingers that if I follow doctor’s orders and continue wearing the clodhoppers until I return to the ortho clinic August 31, the doc will give me the okay to wear normal shoes again. And if that happens, trust me, I’ll be more than happy to step down from my pedestal!
Those shoes are atrocious.
Oh, please don’t share that with Bev, who comments below — she is already questioning her fashion sense!
I remember reading a list of things here that you wanted to get done while stuck at home with your cast on. Any success?
Ah, that is great fodder for a future blog post…stay tuned, Bob!
My father has a war injury on one of his feet and had to wear these clothoppers all of his life – your tale brought back memories of him trying to walk without his shoes, on the beach for example. Now I know how he suffered.
Yes, being statuesque can be quite cumbersome and I wish you and Harper luck.
Annelore
Thanks for the good wishes, Annelore. Funny thing about your mentioning your dad, lately I’ve been craving a walk on the beach, am imagining that the natural way the sand surrounds your foot would feel comforting?
Glad to hear you’re out and about. I don’t think the shoes are that bad. I have a pair a lot like them (minus the added elevation). Should I be concerned about my fashion sense? At least they’re a step in the right direction!
No comment about your fashion sense, but I *love* your sense of humor — a “step” in the right direction. May even use that for a future blog title, thanks for the inspiration!
I’m nearly 6 ft. tall without the shoes, and the view is really good from up here, don’t you agree? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Seriously, you always make me laugh, and you always make me think, and I am glad you so faithfully keep this blog going. I have to tell you that my mother always claimed Tom had “feelers on his feet.”
Confession: I *am* enjoying looking down on people in city elevators…
Where I live, blind people are not required to pick up after their guide dogs.
I think that was the case in Urbana, where we used to live, but I always picked up after my Seeing Eye dogs there, too. I mean, c’mon — I don’t like stepping in that s**t anymore than anyone else does. Without being able to see where we’re stepping, those of us who are blind are more vulnerable to doing just that.
I’ve always liked it when my dogs did their thing in busy areas where many, many people see me leaning down to pick up afterwards, I always hope that if people with dogs see me picking up it will serve as a reminder that hey, if I can do this, you oughta do the same.
I’m a puppy raiser for The Seeing Eye, and there have been nights over the years when I’ve left the pup’s offering on the ground because it was “too dark to see it.” Even as I did it, I gave myself a mental swat with a newspaper because I know that The Seeing Eye teaches their graduates to pick up after their dogs. Good for you for being so diligent, and thanks for the reminder about why we teach the dogs not to walk and poop, and to stand patiently as we pick up after them.
Haha Beth. I hope those shoes don’t have to stay on too long. I’m sure Harper’s wondering what is up with all these strange things happening to your feet recently.
That’s the second time in a few weeks I’ve heard someone mention that they don’t have to pick up after their guide dog. Very strange, but another post or conversation for another time maybe?
Jen x
I love this comment from the puppy raiser – it hadn’t dawned on me until she wrote this that Seeing Eye dogs would have to start learning as puppies to stand patiently as we pick up after them. I never had a dog before I lost my sight, so for some reason I just thought dogs did this naturally.
You puppy raisers teach our guide dogs so MANY, many THINGS!
I’ve said it before but worth repeating: you guys are the most giving and caring, volunteers I know, what generosity of spirit to raise a puppy and then give it away to help someone else.
Your volunteer work is oh so important to all of us who get around safely with guide dogs. THANK YOU so much.
Sweet shoes! Ha, ha.
I probably shouldn’t admit this, but I have a pair that look like that. They’re ugly, but comfortable when I walked all over Amsterdam and London.
I never realized how much you relied on foot-feel. Hopefully you’ll be out of them sooner than expected.
Not the Ruby Slippers, but much better than the walking cast. Now the task at hand, working with Harper. Good luck.
My mother in law had shoes just like that in brown. She had bad feet, no flesh on the bottoms. If she wore regular shoes she could feel every little thing she stepped on.
Enjoy you at least get to walk your route and know you will be rid of them soon!
Penn
Interesting how many have commented that they know of other people who had to wear this sort of shoe for *life* due to permanent foot problems. Hope I didn’t sound too whiney, wearing them just serves as a reminder how much I use my feet to know where I am, and I’m eager to have my “antenna” back again!
So Harper will stay standing and not move to let you know that there is poo? How do you know there is something to pick up? I’m sure that the smell only faint at times.
Harper is pretty particular in this regard – he walks walks around in countless circles before finding exactly the right spot. When he finally stops circling I listen – if I hear a stream, he’s going #1. If I don’t hear anything, I feel for his back. If it’s rounded, I know its poop. Placing my foot near his tail, then, I slip a plastic bag over my right hand and reach down. I feel the ground through the bag until running across some lumps, pick them up, fold the bag over my palm, and that’s that.
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