Faceless Blog

Ok, folks.  I’m looking for opinions on this one.  I was talking with a buddy of mine this morning about my new foot.  For those of you who don’t know, I recently had my right foot amputated and will soon be getting a prosthetic replacement.  He jokingly asked if I could buy just one shoe at a time from now on, or would I be forced to buy pairs of shoes.  (as if it were some sort of discrimination against the one-footed)  We shared a laugh, then I started thinking…there have to be a bunch of people out there with only one foot, or those who have differently sized feet for whatever reason.  Those people, in theory, would end up with a closet full of extra shoes over the years.  My thought was to start up some sort of spare-shoe-matchmaking site.  

People would sign up to the site and be matched with someone…a shoe partner, if you will.  (They would have to be the same gender and shoe size, and have spare shoes of the correct foot to be a match.)  From then on, when one of them buys a pair of shoes, the spare shoe is sent to the partner.  Partners can stay in touch via the web site, or select a new partner if the individual they’re paired up with doesn’t match their shoe preferences.

Now, what I’m trying to figure out is…Would this actually be a valuable service?  I’ve done research after the initial idea, and found out that people with prosthetics are supposed to wear a shoe at all times on their cyberfoot, so I suppose I won’t be using only one shoe at a time…but could I, or others in a similar situation, use a service like this?  (It’s entirely possible that my prosthetic won’t be the same size as my left foot, meaning that instead of buying only one shoe, I would, in fact, have to buy four.  This means I’d have two extra shoes every time I bought new ones, making this service even more valuable.  

So, what do you think?  I welcome any thoughts and opinions on the topic through Twitter at @Facelesscog or through my email.  Whether you’re an amputee who wants to chime in or just someone who wants to throw their two cents in, just let me know.

The other day, as I lay in my hospital bed, recovering from the amputation of my right foot (and about half of my calf), I was visited by the Prosthetics Guy(tm).  He was dropping by to give me a brace for my leg that would make sure my knee didn’t get drawn up, which generally (apparently) only happens to older patients.  He was also kind enough to explain what was going to happen in the coming months as it pertains to me and prosthetics.  We talked about the exercises and conditioning I’d have to do on my leg to get it ready to handle a prosthetic.  It makes sense really, that part of the leg is not used to carrying your weight, so it needs to be toughened up a bit.  The end of your leg also needs to be coaxed into the right shape for your shiny new prosthetic.  He answered several important questions of mine.  No, I would not be getting what I’d been calling a “mannequin foot.”  (one of those carved rubber feet that looks like you stole it off of a mannequin)  No, your foot won’t be one of those crazy J feet you see on professional disabled track and field runners.  Those feet, not surprisingly, are designed specifically for track and field, you can’t really walk around in them.  He went on to explain all of the options in covering your leg, camouflaging it so that people wouldn’t be able to tell you were wearing a prosthetic at all.  This is where I stopped him.  “This is going to sound a bit odd,” I said to him, “but I’m from a community of people who, shall we say, is less impressed by a ‘normal’ leg, and wants to see my prosthetic.”  He laughed, and said that he’s been surprised that more and more people have been saying that same thing.  He then went on to explain options of carbon fiber feet, brushed aluminum support rods, etc.  I’ll have no problem, it would seem, making this foot a part of me.  That’s when it struck me, only part of this was the desire to make a cool, cybernetic foot.  The rest of it was similar to my desire to decorate and customize my wheelchair.  You have to own it.  When you’re handed a condition like this, you can fold up into self-pity and depression, or you can turn around and make it a part of you, like it really is.  The truth is, I don’t want to hide my prosthetic.  My prosthetic will be a badge of honor that I won in a war against cancer that lasted over two years.  I want people to know that having a fake foot is nothing to be ashamed of, any more than being in a wheelchair is…or was (shortly).  Personally, I guarantee that my foot is going to rock.