Last week, I had toenail surgery and my podiatrist removed an ingrown toenail (as described here). I feel like a wimp saying I had "surgery," but apparently that's the official name for the procedure.
Next week, I have a follow-up appointment. Until then, I am supposed to soak my toe for fifteen minutes in a bath of lukewarm water and Epsom salts TWICE a day. Then, I have to dry my foot and rub the recovering toe with a cotton ball to help the dead skin cells flake away; slather the toe with ointment; and then rebandage my toe with gauze.
For the first few days, I enjoyed the ritual of tending to my toe. But it's been nine days, and seriously, I need my toe to stop being such a diva.
I soak my toe in the bathroom. I am a very talented spiller, and I don't want a bowl of water sloshing all over the living room floor. But this means I am trapped in the bathroom for fifteen minutes and I can't get anything done. I realize that it's just fifteen minutes, but in the morning, when you are ready to start your day, fifteen minutes feels like an eternity. And then, yippee, I get to do it all over again in the evening.
It's time for my toe to man up and heal already. And why am I coddling it? It decided to misbehave and get itself an ingrown nail, and now I'm supposed to give it two daily spa treatments? The toe should be punished. Instead of soaking it in Epsom salts, I should be whispering the word "amputation" and painting the toenail black so the other toes know that's the bad toe. I should be soaking and massaging the nine good toes, not lavishing extra attention on my rogue Franken-toe.
I think its time for Western medicine to adopt a new philosophy towards ingrown toenails. Sometimes, the stick is more effective than the carrot.