The Foot Doctor

I went out to see Mom yesterday. She looked healthy and was in a pretty good mood. Mom has mostly recovered from her stay in the hospital last November. At ninety six it is hard to come back from illness, but she is doing well. I wish we could say the same for the ladies we hired as live in caretakers for her. Mom is on her third one. I'm not sure why they keep leaving.

Before I got to her house, my sister called and informed me that the foot doctor would be making a house call at one in the afternoon. No problem, I told her, I'll be there. Sure enough, at five minutes after one, there was a knock at the door. I looked out the window and saw a man standing on the porch with a little leather bag.

"Hello, you must be the doctor. I'm Lila's son, Alan."

He shook my hand and in a quiet voice introduced himself and then told me,

"You know that your mother hates me."

The look on his face told me that he was serious. The doctor was not enjoying this visit.

"Yes, I know that. She was telling me all about how she doesn't need a doctor. She didn't think you should waste your time coming here."

"No, you don't understand. She really hates me and tells me so. She does not like my visits."

I didn't know what to say, but I understood. Mom is capable of slicing you with words. Nothing real mean or openly hostile, but she lets you know how she feels. The doctor took a deep breath and in the tone of a doomed man asked me, "Is she in the bedroom?"

"No, she's in the kitchen sitting at the table."

I had never seen the foot doctor do his work before. A little small talk with Mom, who was quite cheerful and sweet to him, and then down to work. He spread out a little mat on the floor under her feet, put on some rubber gloves, and arranged his tools. One of his tools looked very much like the Dremel grinder I have down in my basement. He took that tool and started grinding away at Mom's toe nails, much like a farrier. I had to look away, but I couldn't block out the sound. It was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Meanwhile Mom continued chatting with me, completely ignoring the doctor doing his work. I had been scanning photos from Mom and Dad's old albums, so I asked her if she recognized anybody in them.

"Oh yes, that is definitely Susan. And that one is Gary. It has to be Gary."

"Really, Gary? But he's in a dress."

Mom laughed.

"That's a christening dress. All the babies wore it."

She forgot all about the good doctor down there on the floor, grinding away at her toes. After a bit of time the doctor put his tools away and announced that he was finished. Mom smiled and thanked him, then I walked with him to the front door.

"I don't know what happened, but this made my day. Your mom has never been that nice to me. Really, I can't think of a better day in a long time."

"Okay then. Thank you for coming. I'll let my sister know everything went well."

"No, you don't understand. Your mom hates me and I dreaded coming here."

For just a moment I thought he might start crying.