“Thank you, Janice.” Troy rose to meet his patient. “Doctor Gareth Troy, Ms. Bartholomew.” The young woman tottered over to Troy like she was wearing spiked heels. But she wasn’t. She was wearing sensible flats. Troy took her hand and shook it. “Take a seat, Ms. Bartholomew.” “Carole, please.” He nodded. Carole savored the chance to sit and breathed deeply while settling into a chair. “You’re a referral from Dr. Birnbaum, aren’t you?” Carole smiled and nodded. “Okay, pop your shoes off for me, so I can take a peek.” Poor cow, he thought. Psychotherapy hadn’t worked. He was her last resort. But she wasn’t the first case like this to be referred to him. His business ran on these referrals. He would help her, but many would argue that the cure was worse than the disease. Troy dropped to his knees to examine her feet. All ten of her toes were gnarled roots, misshapen and twisted. Several were bruised. Some corrective action had taken place. At least four toes, one recent, had been broken to straighten them, only to succeed in deforming them further.
