Free Skywalker--Highs and Lows on the Pacific Crest Trail by Bill Walker

reaching down and giving them a quick toss up to make her point. “And look at this left foot. It looks practically gangrenous. See the way this fluid is coming out from these calluses,” she pointed out. Sure enough there was fluid leaking out from these calluses. “Those are blisters under the calluses. They could get infected any time. Do you wanna’ lose your foot?”
    If the ability to confuse and scare the hell out of a patient is the hallmark of a great physician—excuse me, nurse-practicioner—then this lady belonged in the Hall of Fame.
    “Well, well, what should I do?” I stammered.
    “These blisters need to be debreeded,” she said.
    “How is that done?” I wondered.
    “I have to cut the calluses off to get at the blisters underneath.”
    “That’s gonna’ take a long time to get back to where I can hike,” I muttered. “Is there any alternative?”
    “Well maybe you could try soaking them for a few days and taking antibiotics for the infection. I don’t know.” She walked straight out before I had a chance to discuss Plan B.
    A few minutes later a thirty-ish male walked in with a clipboard.
    “We just need you to sign this showing you agree to the procedure and the price,” he said.
    “But what about the other option—the soaking and the antibiotics?” I asked.
    “What other option?” he asked. The communication problems in this clinic seemed to run in all directions. Renee came back in with a determined look about her.
    “Lie down on the table.” I had no idea what was getting ready to happen. But my feet were badly ravaged, I reasoned. So I laid down on the table.
    “Do you fit?” she asked.
    “Yes, can’t you tell,” I fired back with my head and arms draped over the end of the table.
    “Oh, these are much worse than I had thought,” she immediately said. “I’m going to have to go deep. This might be painful.” For the next fifteen minutes I felt like you do at the barbershop, worried the barber is cutting too much, but not sure whether to interrupt.
    “Okay, I’m through,” she announced.
    I pulled up my feet to take a look, and immediately felt sick at my stomach. Seventy percent of my calluses on the balls of my feet were gone. Instead, there was a visible terrace from where calluses ended and the drop down to a deeper red color where she had cut. Yeah, the blisters were gone and in blister heaven. But how the hell was I going to hike to Canada?
    Renee commenced wrapping my feet in one layer of surgical tape after another in a way I couldn’t possibly hope to replicate. I tensely asked one question after another about the taping, walking, etc. which she robotically answered. Then she was finished.
    “You’re done for awhile,” she said in full-stride as she bolted out of the door.
    To be perfectly fair, I was in a helluva’ fix when I had hobbled in there this morning. But that was nothing compared to the way I walked out. I could barely make it to the waiting room. After paying I just hung out in the waiting room. Renee came flying through.
    “Excuse me, Renee,” I said diplomatically. “Could you just give me a ballpark figure of when I should be aiming to get back on the trail again?” She looked at me a couple seconds, as if in thought. Then, she wheeled around and whisked away without saying a word.
    “You’re done for awhile.” Her words rung in my head. She sure showed me.

Chapter 12
    Bettina
     
    “I s this Renee?” I kept asking.
    “Yes, I’m the lady that cut the blisters out of your feet,” she said. I was in disbelief.
    “Yes, yesterday morning,” she assured me. “That was me.” I was totally confused.
    Dave and I had tried to walk back to the Idyllwild Inn the previous day. But after about twenty yards, he had called the Idyllwild Inn and ask them to come pick me up. They had obliged and I had buried myself back in the cabin for the rest of the day. Deep depression set in. My calculations—entering the high Sierra on June, 15th,