Saga of the Great Toe, Part II
Never trust a man who says This won't hurt, I promise.
My OBs have been smart enough never to say something like that.
The podiatrist I saw yesterday let the phrase slip. But I'm smart enough to know that a man wielding a 2 inch long pin-like tool can only inflict at least a bit of pain. And I was right.
Here's the story. Remember my great toe? The nail fell off a while back (I posted about it here); somehow, it keeps getting stepped on. So even though the old nail fell off, the new nail never stood a chance. And unfortunately, it has taken me a little while to notice that the tip of the new nail had started to grow into the skin of my toe. (I've got 4 kids, some animals, a part-time job, and I volunteer at school. I try to keep up on the house and I am in the process of writing a novel. Is it really any surprise that I didn't notice my toe nail's errant growth? No.)
A week and a half ago, however, I did happen to realize that the toe needed professional help, and I made an appointment. I scrubbed my feet in an attempt to make the scene much better for the podiatrist, a person I'd never met. I made sure to find clean socks with no holes. And then, I made my way to the office, and waited to be seen.
The podiatrist was a jovial fellow. He seemed nice (always watch the use of the word seem, you know?). He asked me a few questions and got right to work.
In the end, the podiatrist ending up removing the top half of the old nail. He said that had the toe been worse, he would have suggested taking off the entire nail, and he would have used Lidocaine for that procedure. Thank goodness. I'd really like to think that this man is not a sadist. He sent me home with a flexible splint for my toe, a prescription to keep the nail soft, and instructions to file the nail at night, across the top, so that it can start to clear the skin as it grows. Easier said than done. I tried filing it at the end of the day yesterday, and had tears in my eyes.
Moral of the story? Beware of people who come at you with a sharp instrument. And always wear shoes. Had I kept my shoes on in the house, I'd have a dirtier floor, but an intact toenail.
My OBs have been smart enough never to say something like that.
The podiatrist I saw yesterday let the phrase slip. But I'm smart enough to know that a man wielding a 2 inch long pin-like tool can only inflict at least a bit of pain. And I was right.
Here's the story. Remember my great toe? The nail fell off a while back (I posted about it here); somehow, it keeps getting stepped on. So even though the old nail fell off, the new nail never stood a chance. And unfortunately, it has taken me a little while to notice that the tip of the new nail had started to grow into the skin of my toe. (I've got 4 kids, some animals, a part-time job, and I volunteer at school. I try to keep up on the house and I am in the process of writing a novel. Is it really any surprise that I didn't notice my toe nail's errant growth? No.)
A week and a half ago, however, I did happen to realize that the toe needed professional help, and I made an appointment. I scrubbed my feet in an attempt to make the scene much better for the podiatrist, a person I'd never met. I made sure to find clean socks with no holes. And then, I made my way to the office, and waited to be seen.
The podiatrist was a jovial fellow. He seemed nice (always watch the use of the word seem, you know?). He asked me a few questions and got right to work.
Him: Let's see. I am going to have to try and lift the skin a bit. This won't hurt, I promise.I clenched my eyelids shut and grasped the handles of the chair. I know it wasn't the best response. Tensing up never made childbirth any better, but I just couldn't help it. I felt the tip of the excavator change from cool goodness to pain in an instant.
Me: Okay.
Me: Ow!Let me say, the grand old foot doctor didn't even introduce the idea of Lidocaine, but I would have taken it. In fact, as time I went on, I even suggested it.
Him: I'm sorry. I need to get this skin up.
Me: I know, but it hurts.
Him: I'm almost done here, and this is the worst part.I am certain the podiatrist thought I was a wuss, and that is fine. I made it through a C-section, the recovery associated with it, and two vaginal deliveries. I gleefully admitted, as my heart started to race and my hands became clammy, that I was not tolerating the pain well. He didn't seem to care.
Me: Okay, sorry. It just hurts. Any hope of Lidocaine?
Him: Lisa, can you please find me a nail splitter, the sharpest you can find?At least I didn't lose my sense of humor while I was in the chair, you know?
Me: Are you serious?!? That sounds promising.
In the end, the podiatrist ending up removing the top half of the old nail. He said that had the toe been worse, he would have suggested taking off the entire nail, and he would have used Lidocaine for that procedure. Thank goodness. I'd really like to think that this man is not a sadist. He sent me home with a flexible splint for my toe, a prescription to keep the nail soft, and instructions to file the nail at night, across the top, so that it can start to clear the skin as it grows. Easier said than done. I tried filing it at the end of the day yesterday, and had tears in my eyes.
Moral of the story? Beware of people who come at you with a sharp instrument. And always wear shoes. Had I kept my shoes on in the house, I'd have a dirtier floor, but an intact toenail.
Comments