When my husband and I got married, I started hemming his pants for him. To my surprise, he had one leg a half inch shorter than the other. I sewed everything accordingly. It was only when he saw a chiropractor about four years later that we realized he didn’t have to live that way. After a couple spinal adjustments, I had to fix all those pant hems.
The other morning I was rushing to the door on my way uptown when I realized I was having the same experience. “Look!” I said to my husband. “My left leg is shorter than my right!” He thought I was faking. I was so freaked out, he finally started showing proper concern. We couldn’t figure out what had happened. I had no pain. No memory of falling (recently) or hurting my back. But I definitely had one leg at least an inch longer than the other.
I walked back and forth across the room, my hysteria growing. “What the hell?” I double checked my left heel, thinking that something must be stuck there, but there was nothing. Just a definite hitch in my gait as I walked back and forth across the room. “I’m not changing all my pants,” I declared, which was my pathetic way of shouting into the void. Not that I believe in the void.To me, there’s always someone on the other end of the line.
We have a lot going on with our family at large. Some people very dear to me are facing big health challenges. Why not me, I thought. I’ve never been one to panic, but, dammit. “I must have a tumour on my heel,” I said aloud. I was preparing to take off my boot when I caught sight of my right foot.
I was wearing two different boots. In my defense, they’re almost identical, except that one pair is flat. I have never done this before. Never left the house with two different socks or shoes. I’ve occasionally worn a shirt inside out. The consolation prize was the five minutes of laughter we shared, and the relief that my leg was all right. The downside is, I’m definitely a person who’s not paying attention. Since I already know this, it doesn’t really hurt my feelings. But I thought I’d improved over the years.
Perhaps the slippery slope of distraction means I spend a little more time turning in circles while wondering what I’m supposed to be doing. When I experience stress, I stop paying attention. And life has a way of throwing things at us when we least expect it. For now, I’ll hobble along. Do my best to keep my brain engaged. It may not work every time, but you can be sure my boots will match.