The Joys of Infirmity

From our guest blogger Sharon Rosenzweig:

Sharon's husband-manicured foot gets the treatment

I woke up unable to walk. Bearing weight on my heel was like leaping onto a spike. I diagnosed plantar fasciitis on WebMD, and sent my husband Aaron to the basement to fetch crutches. 45 excruciating minutes later, the absolutely excruciating phase passed, and by the way, did I mention it was excruciating? I could hobble and lurch around gracefully.

But if it was plantar fasciitis, I might be in for a long, painful, humiliating recovery. I was not interested. I am an amateur athlete used to boundless energy and addicted to endorphins. While I appreciate Aaron’s sympathy I find it distasteful. My joy is in taking care of others and making allowances for their infirmities, not in bravely accepting their pity. My goal was to get over this with maximum speed and minimum damage to my valorous reputation.

Among the best treatments for plantar fasciitis, which I learned from phone calls to my friends who ALL seem to have personal experience with the condition, was to stay off my feet. Luckily, our plans for the day included an excellent way to remain stationary, driving down to Memphis. In Benton, IL we overnighted at the KOA in a one-room cabin. To pass the time and cheer me up, Aaron offered a pedicure. We hopped in the car and headed to downtown Benton for supplies.

The vast floor space of WalMart looked like a field of pain mines threatening misery in all directions with every step. Who knew how much agony lay between me a set of toe separators. I thought of waiting in the car, but I wanted to choose the polish color and WalMart offered wheelchair carts with surprising appeal. The chair had a huge basket in front and hinged open to allow entry. Then it closed shut around you. It was like being embraced by my metal wheelchair mommy. Aaron moved to the back of the chair and began pushing me down the long aisle. I became the Queen Mum, a frail wisp of a woman, being guided capably, and at leisure, through the WarMartian maze. Aaron was diligent and solicitous. I knew I had but point to an item and it would appear in the basket before me.

Sharon in the "metal wheelchair mommy"

It was like that for about the first minute and a half of our expedition. Then Aaron started exploring the possibilities of a rolling Sharon doll. He pushed me forward then ran alongside, because… he could. We cornered the aisles on two wheels, he pretended to run me into walls only to stop at the last instant. The wheelchair made me feel like a child and let Aaron act like one. I can only imagine what he was like pushing his daughters’ baby carriage.

But I began to appreciate being taken care of. I started to believe that Aaron enjoyed helping me, and that I would not be diminished in his eyes by accepting his kindness.

That night, in our cozy little cabin, I got my pedicure and my first ever husband-administered foot massage. You think you know a person! It turned out that Aaron’s hands and my feet were a match made in heaven. Kneading, pulling, rotating my toes, Aaron moaned in delight! As I lounged in bed, my loving hubby delighting himself by making me feel better, a glass of zinfandel in my hand and romantic music wafting up from the speakers of my iPhone, I thought, “If this is a preview of old age and infirmity, bring it on!”

––Sharon Rosenzweig

See Sharon’s other postings: The Only White Person in South Memphis and Turned Away from Church, Welcomed at the Track

Sharon Rosenzweig and her husband Aaron Freeman produce The Comic Torah, their own inspired take on the five books of Moses.