Little did I know that my toe would have its own tale of woe as I made the appointment with the podiatrist a week ago. I hobbled in trying not to show the pain of walking with an ingrown (ingroan) toenail.
A little older (I forget that age is relative) lady gave me the answer to easier walking….men’s black swimming shoes. “So cool in the summertime and the walkin’ is easy.”
I tucked that bit of information in the recesses of my brain ‘in case’ I should ever want or try to retrieve it. Soon I was ushered into the office. A nice chair. I recalled the internet talking about supine lying around. Well, I didn’t really want to lie down, so the chair pleased me. I sat in it and shed my shoes and socks. And there was my right toe, the pain culprit, staring at me.
The doctor entered with a flourish usually attending a doctoral entrance. There is just something about the white coated individual that demands respect. I think I will order a white coat and see my fellow friends’ respect-o-meter rise. Then I listened….there are two options. I wondered if one option would BE an option. Or do you have to have two or more to have options.
I tuned in as the doctor proclaimed, “The toenail can be removed entirely, or we can trim either side and you would come in every three months to get it trimmed again.” There was no contest. I decided quickly that every three months rolls around much too quickly. The doctor explained the procedure, some bleeding, some pain — take aspirin — see you in two weeks.
The screen was set up, my toe washed, a table pulled into place with a variety of instruments. I didn’t look at it. That is my policy. I felt extremely cold air blown on my toe. Then came needles with anesthesia. Each side, and around about. I lost count at six sticks. There was a little wait for the deadening to take effect. I tried to move my toe once, and commented, “It feels like the toe is gong to fall off.” I was assured that it would not. And then came the tug.
“Are you through?” This was a piece of cake — without frosting, of course, but a piece of cake, a walk in the park, a breeze. The doctor held my toenail in the air like a victory banner. Then came the application of the chemical to eliminate further growth of the toenail, the application of the wound dressing and the wrappings.
All the way home, I felt elated, and the toe did not hurt. All the cliches zipped through my mind rehearsing the simpleness of the procedure. The next day the scheduled bridal shower came to pass. I made it through about an hour, and left for home again to put my foot up.
On Sunday was ‘S’ day — I showered after I removed the dressing. It was not pleasant to see. I managed to play the keyboard and make it through the church service and part of the Back to Country Fun afterward before I went home to put my foot up. So the days inched by with lots of rest but managing the usual schedule except for two showers a day — and re-dressing the toe. This is the most attention the toe has ever received, I just hope the attention won’t go to the toe’s head. (Or does it have a head?) Paul wrote that he didn’t know what to call my toe — bald toe, toenail-less, or what.
This Friday will be the scheduled appointment. And last night my toe hurt beyond two aspirin. It felt like a knife sliced through the left side. It has been a week. I took a picture of the toe, but lost the podiatrist’s email. Probably just as well. A friend, ex-nurse, informed me Thursday that it wasn’t infected because it didn’t smell. Such good news.
So, this Ode to Toe-Nail must come to a close. What are the blessings? No more pain (after it heals), I have had two weeks of being so clean with two showers a day, an excuse to read, prop up my feet and blog a bit. Or is it a bit of a blog?