Getting A Foothold Over This Disease

(I was diagnosed with diabetes as a child. It has been more or less perfectly managed, but my family has all been aware of the potential risks in the future. Fast forward to when I’m seventeen and my mum has just recently done what she calls the ‘sock run,’ where she throws out all our old, worn down socks. She forces me to take my socks off because of a hole on the front, so I’m currently walking around barefoot. I walk by my sister’s room.)

Sister: *sounding panicked* “[My Name]! What’s that?”

Me: “What?”

Sister: *pointing at my foot* “THAT! Oh, no, it’s happening.” *tearing up* “Mum, it’s happened!”

Me: “No, it’s…”

(My sister then starts weeping over my feet, so loud it alerts the rest of the house. My mum runs up.)

Mum: “[Sister], [My Name], what the h*** is going on?”

Sister: “Mum, it’s happened. [My Name] is losing his feet.”

(I glare at her as she starts wailing while my mum walks away laughing her head off.)

Me: “[Sister]! Calm down. It’s just fluff!”

(I bend down and pick it off my foot.)

Me: “See?”

Sister: *deer in the headlights moment* “Oh! Okay… *turns and slams her door in my face*