It’s no secret that I’m basically your garden variety neurotic. I’m pretty anxious. Periodically, I have bouts of depression. But I manage to keep things between the ditches, in part, with some medication. This means I have to see a doctor for check-ups.
I don’t really mind going to the psychiatrist’s office. I get to feel superior in there. I like the office for the same reason other people like the state fair or Wal-Mart. I look really good… comparatively speaking.
I mean, seriously. There are some crazy people in there. I’ve never brought a possum into the waiting room. Or a rooster. (Both of which have happened.) I brush my hair. I usually wear makeup. I’m a great patient.
What’s the old verse about pride and falls? Yeah.
So this week I went in for my regular check-up. No big deal. The nurse called me back to check my blood pressure and weigh me. (Side note: if they would weigh me after they take my blood pressure, the BP readout would be much better.)
As I got up to walk back, the sole of my shoe came dislodged.
I was wearing super cute wedges. And the heel just let go of the cork. It was still attached at the toe, so it became a high-heeled flip flop of sorts. The only way to walk at that point was to pull my knee up to my waist with every other step.
The hanging wedge made this loud flopping sound every time I picked up my foot. So it created this horse clomping sound along with the strange gate.
To make matters worse, I was about 3 inches off the ground, and suddenly that seemed really.high. I instinctively threw my arms out like a tight rope walker to balance myself.
The nurse had already turned for me to follow her when this happened, so when she heard the commotion behind her, she turned back around to see me doing some kind of weird rooster strut, running my hand along the wall to balance myself while ramming my right knee into my chest on alternate steps to make it down the hall.
“My shoe just broke,” was all I could manage.
“Um, ok.” She was using the same voice she used when she told Possum Woman that the animal would have to wait in her vehicle. No one believed that varmint was a service animal.
But she is a nurse, and her profession demands some degree of empathy, or at least scientific verification. She checked my shoe when we arrived at her station to determine that it was indeed busted.
Apparently, being a nurse requires McGuiver-esque supplies, so she quickly produced super glue, a paper clip and rubber bands to mend the shoe temporarily. But I had to take both shoes off while the glue dried to prevent gluing my foot to the wedge.
But the doc wasn’t ready for me yet, so she sent me back into the waiting room. Back out with the crazy people, she deposited me like that.
And that is why I was sitting at in the waiting room of my psychiatrist’s office in Arkansas barefoot, holding my shoes with rubber bands around the heel.
Because even among the INSANE, I couldn’t seem to manage to be vaguely normal. Even there, I made a scene. Some days, I should not be let out.