Yes, It’s Monday, or, A True Story in Which, in Spite of Much Effort, I Fail to Obtain a Pair of Orthopedic Shoes

Morning. Turn off the alarm. Remember that I have an 8:30 am doctor’s appointment. Let the dogs out. Shower and get ready. Leave around 8 am because the doctor’s office is in Mauldin.

Drive to Mauldin, easily a twenty-minute trip, in typical Monday-morning traffic. Fun.

I have been to two different doctors about my feet because I am having some diabetic neuropathy symptoms. One doctor said, Yep, you have neuropathy, and you need to see another doctor to get fitted with proper shoes. The other doctor measured my feet and had me step in a shoebox full of what seemed like floral foam to get an exact measure of each foot. Both appointments were weeks ago.

Over the weekend I’ve been thinking about which doctor I’m supposed to see this morning—I know it is the one who ordered my shoes for me, the guy who had me step in floral foam. But I forget which office he is in. I finally conclude to my satisfaction that he is in the one in Mauldin.

Hence I am driving to Mauldin this morning. I am almost there when I think, Wait, this is the wrong office! I recall the tiny office in which I saw the second doctor who had me step in floral foam and how I had difficulty finding it because it was in a large medical complex. But the Mauldin office is just an individual storefront office.

Just to be sure, I pull into a gas station and call the office I’m headed for. (I’m about three minutes away from their front door.) No, they don’t have me on their schedule until February. I briefly consider going anyway and telling them I’ve arrived a little early but am happy to wait. Since it is October, though, I quickly discard the idea.

OK, so initially I was wrong when I tried to recall where to go, but now I know I was wrong and am therefore now right. I call the correct doctor’s office and am greeted by a recording that says they open at 8:30. It is now approximately 8:27. I leave a message explaining that I’m running late but should be there in 15 minutes or so. Please call me if that is unacceptable.

No one calls as I drive from Mauldin back to Greenville to the correct office.

As I arrive and park in one of the large parking lots at the medical complex, I recall how last time I didn’t realize I was to be in Building C and entered the wrong building first. A nice receptionist told me I needed to be in the building next door. I walked over there. I knew the office was on the third floor, so I took the elevator to the third floor.

The elevator lobby opened onto an even larger lobby that had a large reception desk. I approached it and asked where the podiatry office was. “You mean the Center for Prosthetics and Orthotics?” she asked. Yeah, that sounded right. “Oh, that’s down that hallway.” She gestured to her left.

I looked for a sign directing me to the Center for Prosthetics and Orthotics but found none. Nevertheless, I obeyed her instructions and walked down the hall. And walked down the hall. And walked down the hall. At the end of the hall on my right I saw a door and a tiny sign: “Center for Prosthetics and Orthotics.” I entered, somewhat irked at how difficult their office was to find. Fortunately they did not take my blood pressure. Being irked has a negative effect on my blood pressure.

So all of that was the first time I had been to this office weeks ago. Today I proudly remember how to get there, now that I’m in the correct location. I park in the right parking lot. I enter the main lobby and take the elevator to the third floor. I walk past the big deceptive reception desk down, down, down the hall until I reach the hallowed headquarters of the Center for Prosthetics and Orthotics. I enter their tiny lobby and see that there is no receptionist at the desk. I stand there, waiting for one to magically appear. From farther back in the office area, a doctor (I guess he is a doctor?) sees me standing there and says, Hey, can I help you?

I give him my name and appointment time and apologize for being late. He says, Oh, okay, just go into room one and wait.

Eager to comply, I turn to my left and enter what I think is room one. It is not room one. It is an exam room, and a heavyset gentleman is sitting in a chair looking at his phone. He has only one leg. Oh, I say, befuddled, I guess this isn’t room one! The one-legged man glances up at me and then back at his phone without saying anything.

I exit room two (I guess it was room two?) and see a room next door that has a sign proclaiming it to be room one. This is very helpful. I enter room one and sit.

A few minutes later the doctor (?) who had spoken to me earlier enters. Hey, he says, we should have called you Friday. I’m sorry, but your shoes haven’t come in yet. We’ll be sure to give you a call when they do. . . .

Copyright 2024, Steven Nyle Skaggs