Toes in a Whiskey Glass, Foot in a Jar

  Word came to the hacienda the other day that a relative of a grandchild’s other side of the family was in the hospital and was having toes amputated.  Seems the woman has health problems related to her weighing close to 400 pounds and having The Sugar.

  I have The Sugar.

  The Sugar is Southernese for Diabetes.

  I imagine if I’d paid attention in health class back in the 8^th grade I might’ve been wiser about the stuff I ate. 

  Probably not but it sounds good to say it.  Just like when I say “If I’d a-paid attention on career day in high school maybe I’d a-been a lawyer and made the big coin instead of being a disc jockey.”

  I believe I’ve had more fun working in radio than if I’d done lawyering.

  If I’d cared about my health I would’ve realized that regularly eating half of a big-assed bag of cheese curls or a hunk of chocolate cake with a big glass of milk or a mess of French fries or copious amounts of macaroni and cheese or getting copious refills of Co-Cola and being over 100 pounds overweight would be hard on my health.

  It started with a tingling in my toes then I started to lose a lot of weight without even trying.  Then I got weaker and weaker until I started to lose interest in riding my bicycle…something I love to do.

   When I lost interest in eating THAT’S when The Lady of the House decided it was time to go see a doctor.

  “But what if I have The Cancer?” I said.

  “Really?” said The Lady of the House.  “That’s your excuse for not going to the hospital?”

  The day I discovered I had Type 2 Diabetes I had a blood sugar level of 420 and an A1C of 16.  If you’re not familiar with that stuff they like your blood sugar to be around 100 and your A1C to be 6.

  “Maybe it would’ve been better if you had cancer,” said The Lady of the House, “at least they might’ve been able to cut that out of you.”

  Well that was back in 2014 and I’ve been living with diabetes since then…the ups and downs of the blood sugar levels, the eye problems, stuff like that.

  I see all the ads on the TV about the diabetes medicines.

  I see that ad for that medicine if you have diabetic pain in the feet.

  And then I think about my feet.

  I’ve been lucky, I guess…there hasn’t been any pain…just numbness and tingling.

  I think about the possibility of losing my toes…something that happens to some folks who have diabetes.

  “Well, if I lose my toes I’d like to send them off to that bar in The Yukon up in Canada,” I told The Lady of the House.  It was a Sunday morning she was reading the paper and I was having a cup of coffee. 

  I was talking about the Sourdough Saloon in Dawson City in The Great White North.  They serve up something called a “Sourtoe Cocktail”….a shot of whiskey in a glass with a mummified human toe swimming around in the liquor.

  Some folks have swallowed the toes over the years (you’re not supposed to do that) so I reckon they could use some fresh toes from time to time.

  “Just wrap ‘em up and mail ‘em off to Canada,” I said.  “But if they cut off my foot I want that.”

  “You can’t have it,” said The Lady of the House.  “At hospitals they keep amputated parts, they consider them biohazards.”

  “What the hell,” I said.  “It’s MY foot!”

  “And it’s a biohazard.”

  “I could keep it in a jar of alcohol on the shelf,” I said.

  “I don’t think that you’d have a lot of time to enjoy your foot on the shelf anyway,” said The Lady of the House.

  “Whaddya mean?”

  “If you’re at the point where you’re having body parts lopped off because of diabetes you’re probably not long for this world,” she said.

  “Well, that’s a bummer,” I said.

  The Lady of the House went back to reading her newspaper.

  I stared out the window at the sky and had another sip of coffee.

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