Wednesday, January 18, 2012


Check out my Franken-toe:

About two months ago, my big toe started to bother me.  The toe felt a little sensitive and tender.  Sometimes, if I went on a long walk and wore the wrong shoes, it hurt.  The toe was a little red and the toenail looked irritated, but I decided to ignore the situation.  I have a tendency to overreact to injuries, and I did not want my inner hypochondriac to get the upper hand.

But last week, my toe developed a new symptom.  I'll spare you the gory details, but let's just say it involves the word "ooze." Said oozing got my attention. 

Yesterday, I had an appointment with a podiatrist.  I felt like such a wimp because the toe did not look that bad.  I even apologized to the nurse as he set me up in my room!  The podiatrist was probably going to laugh at my toe and tell me to stop being a hypochondriac.

Instead, the podiatrist said I had an ingrown toenail and the infected nail had to be removed.  Yay!  Hallelujah!  Validation!  I was not overreacting.  The toe needed medical attention! 

I was very calm and relaxed for the procedure.  The doctor gave me three or four shots to numb the toe.  Then, he started to remove the toenail and SON OF A BITCH IT REALLY HURT.  But, I was determined to be mature, so I just winced.

The doctor, however, noticed my "wince."  (Okay, it was more like an "overdramatic grimace meant to get the doctor's attention.")  He asked if I was feeling "pain or pressure."  When I said it was quite painful, he said, "Why aren't you hollering and kicking?  You need another shot."  As he gave me another dose of something, he explained that sometimes the infection resists the numbing agent.  (I'm sure he used a medical term, but I wasn't paying close attention seeing as he was sticking me with a needle and I don't like needles especially ones that are being stuck into my body).   

The podiatrist started the procedure a second time, and again, HOLY CRAP IT REALLY HURT.  The doctor decided to give the numbing agents a few more minutes to take effect.  So I sat and waited (and started to sweat profusely from fear).  The anticipation mae it feel like I was waiting for an amputation.   

Finally, it was time for Take Three, and this time, I just felt a slight pressure.  The podiatrist worked his magic, and now I have a heavily bandaged Franken-toe.  I am under doctor's orders to rest my toe and eat lots of ice cream.  (Well, he didn't say anything about ice cream, but I'm sure that was just an oversight). 

Yay for Franken-toe!  It makes me look like a total bad ass.