"Hell on heels"

The title comes from a great little video by Miranda Lambert's group, the "Pistol Annies." (video link)
But it reminds me so much of MG.

A few years ago, just before Valentine's Day, MG and I were walking through a store and saw a shelf full of bright red high heels.
I could tell they caught her eye. They caught mine. I've always joked that the only true aphrodisiac is a woman in high heels. MG has always loved her high heels.
"What do you think?" I said, holding up a bright red high heel shoe that I knew she liked.
"You like them, don't you,'' she said, not really asking.
"Let's get them,'' I said.
This was one of those times when money was tight. The shoes would be an extravagance.
"No,'' MG said. "I really don't have anything to wear them with."
I laughed and said, "You don't have to wear them with anything. In fact I might prefer that."
She slapped me. Gently.
And we got the shoes.

As I said, MG has always loved her high heels (as SB revealed here.) Just before the accident, MG had bought a pair of blue heels that were very fancy, flashy in an understated sophisticated kind of way. I'm sure there is a proper name for these shoes, but I have no idea what that name might be."Sexy?"
MG wanted those shoes put on top of the TV so they'd be in her line of site. Those shoes became her goal, looking to the day when she would finally wear them.
And then we went to the doctor last week, and were told that her 'drop foot' was not improving. The longer we went with no improvement, the worse the odds that MG would get the use of that foot back. We asked what that meant, and the doctor said, "You'll wear an orthotic the rest of your life. No more high heels."
Dr. Lowe had no way of knowing that a pair of high heels had become MG's motivation. He had no way of knowing how much MG loves her high heels. He was just answering the question.
When we got home, MG had me take the high heels off the TV.

That may sound shallow. If you're a guy, you're like me and probably thinking, "What the heck? I'd love to wear tennis shoes for the rest of my life."
If you a woman, you might understand. It's a little thing. It's not even that MG has that many pairs of shoes, or spends excessively on shoes. In fact, she's quite frugal, always looking for a sale.
And I also realize plenty of people deal with drop foot. This isn't meant to in any way denigrate or suggest drop foot is some horrible issue that can't be dealt with.
But everybody has that "thing" that comes to define them. Sometimes we consciously choose what that is; sometimes we may be the only person who knows what that thing is. By the nature of being human, we're self-conscious, and how we see ourselves is an important part of who we are.
I don't even know that I'd say high heels defines MG. But I know for her, high heels are that "thing" that makes her feel glamorous, that reminds this hard-working, sacrificing care-giver that she is and always will be a lady.

Shortly after getting the orthotic that straps around her foot and goes up the back of her calf, that keeps her left foot in a 90 degree angle so she can walk on it, MG ordered a pair of sandals. Because of the way the plastic mold works, she can't have a sandal strap that goes between her toes. Because the plastic orthotic goes under the ball of her foot, the shoe has to have extra room to accommodate that depth and width, and there has to be a strap in the back to help hold everything in place.
 The sandals are comfortable looking. Functional.
"Comfortable'' and "functional'' are not words a lady looks for in glamourous footwear.

The other day, while we were out shopping for a recliner that will allow MG to sit up in a chair comfortably so she can join friends and family in other parts of the house for longer than 15-20 minutes, we were talking about sandals.
"Let's go to DSW,'' MG said.
"Sure," I said. "They have row after row of sandals. I bet we can find something that looks dressier and will work."
So we went.
Because MG was walking with the walker and is not very fast, I went ahead, looking for any shoe that might fit the above requirements. I was a row or two ahead of her, and would hold one up for her to see.
"That might work,'' she'd say, every the optimist. "But I'd like it to be lighter in color."
I went on down the aisle and held up another.
"We'll try that one,'' MG said, and I could tell she was excited.
Until we tried the first sandal on.
The 'cute' ones were open toe, of course, but it quickly became apparent that they wouldn't allow for enough room over the ball of the foot to accommodate the plastic form ... and suddenly it hit MG that there weren't any shoes there that would work.
She put on her sun glasses so I wouldn't see the tears.
"Let's try these down here,'' I said, trying to restore hope.
"I'm tired,'' she whispered. "Let's just go home."
MG walked in excited, with as much spring in her step as an injured leg and a walker would allow, having walked from where I parked the car across the parking lot, into the store.
She walked back to the front door in what can only be described as a hobble.
"I'll wait inside the door,'' she said. "You go get the car."

It's all just another part of the new reality that we're dealing with. We continue to pray and hope that it's not permanent. Just tonight, MG actually not only curled the toes on her left foot down, but pulled them back up, too. She can spread her toes.
With effort.
"You wouldn't believe how exhausting that is,'' MG said. "So many things that you take for granted, like wiggling your toes. I have to stare at them and concentrate on what I want them to do. It really takes so much focus and concentration."
And for what seems like so little reward.
But it is a reward. Every little movement is hope.

I absolutely am convinced that MG will be restored. I believe she'll be able to walk along the sandy beach again, through the shallow waves; I believe we'll dance again just as badly - but with as much fun - as before, and even hike Grandfather Mountain again.
No one can give us a timeline. We know the longer she goes without getting control and feeling, the worse her odds of getting that control and feeling back. But it's been 11 weeks. Maybe that's not long enough to start worrying.
One thing I gather is that no doctor can tell us for sure when it's been too long. And I know that what doctors don't know, God does.
I know whatever our new reality looks like, God will give us the ability to not only accept but thrive; that's MG's personality.
Even now, every day she becomes more independent. She fights using the little aids that she sees as concessions to her limitations.
There is a commercial for the Paralympics we watch where this young lady talks about having worn the uniform of her country in the Army, then losing both her legs when she was hit by a drunk driver. Now she wears the uniform of her country, representing the USA in the Paralympic Games.
We know it could have been worse - much worse than even losing legs. I remind myself that it was life-and-death for awhile, that the police and firemen did not expect MG to survive the accident.

I've been talking to the district attorney about the court case against the guy that did all this to MG. The DA wanted to hear what we thought about appropriate punishment. It's been an interesting conversation.
A preliminary hearing was scheduled for this week, but the guys' attorney has decided they'll go to the Grand Jury instead. That will likely take months. I assume he's hoping to buy some time, and by going to a Grand Jury hoping to get charges reduced.
I know where the guy works. I admit I've thought about driving over there, just to see it, maybe to see him. Not to talk to him, not to let him know I'm even there, but just to see what his life is like, what he's like at work, what he looks like.
I wonder if he looks like he's sorry, if he feels guilty - but then, how would I know? I wonder if he lies in bed at night worried about his future, if every time he picks up a drink of alcohol  he thinks about where that could lead ... I wonder if he even still picks up a drink of alcohol. I hope not.
I don't know if any of that is good idea. It's probably not. I don't know that I will go through with it. While I can't imagine living every day with the possibility of a felony conviction and jail time hanging out there in my future the way this guy is, I wonder if he has any idea of what it's like having your life so disrupted - maybe forever - the way MG's life - and by extension ours - has been by his choice of action.
He said he was at his brothers house drinking. I wonder if his brother feels guilt. I wonder how his parents feel.
I know he didn't leave his brothers' house with the intent to go hit someone, to nearly kill someone with his car. I don't think he's an evil person, mean or malicious.
But he did those things. And he was uninsured, compounding the issue, doubling the crime (at least in my mind).

I'm think about the future. I wonder if my job will eventually move me to New Orleans (I'm responsible for Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama). I know it would be fun to have an apartment in New Orleans, and have MG with me. We've always loved that city.
I think about the past. I can't help but wish I'd given MG more opportunities to wear her high heels. I wish we'd gone to fancier places, and done more dancing.
She'll be so offended and angry that I say this, but there was a time MG truly was "hell on heels."
I can't help but believe that one day we'll take those blue heels out of the closet where I hid them, she will be "hell on heels'' again.
I refuse to believe otherwise.