Category: Podiatry

I wish my coworker would stop talking about his feet. He’s absolutely obsessed with them. At least once a week he’ll bring up his foot problems and the foot exercises set out by his podiatrist. Like, dude. Keep that stuff to yourself! Why would you think that the first thing I want to hear on a Tuesday morning is your latest foot diagnosis? I find feet disgusting. I don’t even like or think about my own feet, let alone talk about someone else’s with them.

Yesterday he had the audacity to tell me that he got something called bunion splints. I have no idea what that is or what that means, and frankly, I don’t want to know. He just brought it up so casually in conversation. Like it was something totally normal that happens to a lot of people. Now, this may be the case but I have no idea if it is. AND I DON’T WANT TO KNOW. How much more clear can I be?

I wonder if I should talk to HR about this. Surely there are rules around talking about body parts in the workplace. I know feet aren’t inherently bad but if it’s making me uncomfortable, then I assume it has to stop? I would hope so at least. If he brings up his feet one more time then I’m going to take it further. I’ve told him that I don’t like it and he continues to bring it up and I think I’ve given him more than enough warning. 

Okay, that’s it. He brought up one of his foot conditions. Cheltenham businesses should have a zero tolerance policy for this type of thing. I’ve decided to go to HR this afternoon. I’ll let you know how I go.

Update: I didn’t go well. Apparently talking about his feet is a non-issue and it’s up to me to remove myself from the conversation if I don’t like it. How bad is that!

I think my son is having issues with his feet. He keeps complaining that it hurts to wear shoes and has stopped doing any physical activity with his friends. I’m actually a bit worried about him and because he’s only eight, he doesn’t really know how to explain what he’s feeling. I obviously don’t want him to be in pain and so I’ve made the next available appointment at the local foot specialist. Being a dad means doing these things.

I hope my son’s little feet are okay. I would hate for him to experience ongoing foot problems in his childhood, teens and then all the way up until adulthood. He’s a really sporty kid and although the odds are that he won’t become an elite sportsman, I’m sure he will experience some really good success in local sport. That’s the type of thing that kids are proud of for years and I don’t want him to miss out on anything like that.

I have a feeling that my son’s problems might be fixed with some early intervention. Maybe he needs children’s orthotics. In the Cheltenham area, the podiatrists are really high quality so I have no doubt that they’ll know exactly what he needs. But speaking to the parents in the school yard, they think it sounds like he needs orthotics. Apparently it’s really normal around this age because our kids’ feet are growing. To be honest, I’m not really sure of the science. I just smile and nod when people offer up extra information that I don’t particularly care about. I swear people just like to hear the sound of their own voice.

Until my son’s appointment at the podiatrist, I’m going to try and do some more low key activities with him. Instead of going to kick the footy this weekend, we’re going to do some painting in the backyard. I want to keep him entertained even though he can’t run around at the moment.

‘Did you feel that?’ I asked my wife, gently tapping her on the shoulder. She stopped scolding the kids in the backseat for a second to look at me.

         ‘No,’ she frowned, confused. ‘What was it?’

         ‘I don’t know,’ I checked all of the mirrors, puzzled. ‘Some kind of… rumble, I guess.’

         A car ahead of us beeped, but the rush-hour gridlock meant no traffic was moving on the bridge. A quick smattering of reciprocating beeps flowed out amongst the rest of the crowd, but soon died down.

         There.

         ‘Did you feel that?’ I asked, feeling unexpectedly frantic. I couldn’t see anything, but… what was that?

         ‘Honey,’ my wife soothed me, placing a calming hand on my shoulder. ‘I know that you get stressed whenever we have your podiatry appointments near the Melbourne CBD, but you need to take a breath.’

         ‘I know, I know,’ I half-responded, eyes still glued to the bridge behind us.

         Was that smoke? Was that–

         ‘Oh my god,’ I whispered.

         ‘That’s Spy-Door Man!’ my son cheered from the backseat.

         He was right! Spy-Door Man flew past our car, then disappeared under the bridge, chasing something.

         ‘What the…’ my wife breathed.

         The honks behind us began to increase, more people hammering harder on their horns. I twisted around to look, people now streaming onto the bridge, cars abandoned.

         Boom! Boom!

         The road underneath us rippled as if it were rubber, as something massive exploded underneath us.

         ‘The arch supports!’ somebody yelled from the crowd, and a scream went up.

         ‘We’ve got to run for it,’ I said to my family, leaning back to unbuckle my son, as my wife grabbed our daughter. ‘We have to–’

         There was another loud boom! and a sickening lurching feeling, as the road underneath us disappeared with a crash of rubble.

         ‘No, no, no, no,’ I found myself screaming, hanging onto my family as we plunged toward the water below.

         Thwip.

         We stopped falling with another lurch, suspended in midair by a single thread. It was thin, but I somehow knew that it would hold.

         ‘Thank you, Spy-Door Man,’ I whispered.

Ravi was beginning to hate his new job. He’d thought that it would be an opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to see the world from a new vantage, to gaze up at the stars and wonder at man’s place amongst them.

         In reality, he’d just been really, really nauseous.

         ‘Catch, newbie.’       

         Ravi unsuccessfully twisted his body around to see who was talking, but only managed a slight turn. A white vomit bag went slowly sailing past him, just out of reach, and he let out an undignified groan.

         ‘It gets better,’ chuckled the person who’d thrown it – Captain Waters. She was in charge of this mission, and absolutely the last person Ravi wanted to throw up in front of.

         ‘Does it?’ he groaned.

         ‘Yeah, just have to give it a couple of days, that’s all,’ she grinned empathetically.

         ‘I’ve been here a week.’

         ‘Oh… then I’d get better at catching nearby vomit bags.’

         As she started to laugh, Ravi had the distinct impression that he’d forgotten how. Seeing his discomfort, the still-smiling captain pulled herself towards him.

         ‘Look,’ she started. ‘Can I tell you something super embarrassing?’

         He looked up at her, curiosity overtaking his queasiness.

         ‘My feet,’ she whispered, ‘are killing me.’

         Ravi just stared at her for a heartbeat, then burst out laughing. Waters’ grin spread further across her face.

         ‘I haven’t actually used them for six months, and the damn things hurt so much,’ she laughed. ‘There’s a great place in Cheltenham that treats common foot conditions, but I’ve still got another three months in this tin can before I can go see them.’

         Ravi wiped a tear from his eye, watched it float into the air as a perfect sphere.

         ‘That does sound awful,’ he giggled. ‘I’d recommend compression therapy, if you ever make it down there.’

‘I might just try that,’ Waters nodded. ‘Quick question: do you still feel like vomiting?’

Ravi looked up, startled to realise that he didn’t. He shook his head.

‘Good,’ his captain smirked. ‘Then get back to work!’