The Ingrown

A pain on my right big toe had been nagging at me for months. Like many bad things in life, pretending it doesn't exist won't make it go away. Eventually the side of my toe had deformed to such an extent that I developed a blister since my flesh was rubbing against my shoe. There was a shooting pain from the tip of my toe to the base.

I decided to see a doctor. Based on the pictures I sent him beforehand, he told me that it looked like a severe case of an ingrown toenail and that surgery would be best. I wished it was a wart instead or something minor. I suggested he examine in it person first before recommending action. He scheduled an examination inside the minor operating room of the hospital. I guess he was that sure of the diagnosis.

On the day of the appointment, he barely had to look at it for five seconds before concluding that it was an ingrown toenail. I had two choices: surgery or antibiotics. I asked the doctor what good antibiotics would do since it won't exactly solve the problem. He shrugged. I love non-options. The illusion of choice can be very comforting. Surgery it was.

I had to put a gown over my clothes and a shower-cap. Since the nurses manning the operating room had nothing better to do, they began to crowd around. I told the doctor to keep the helping hands to a minimum. I'm no lab rat.

I lay down on the hospital bed and had them put the tray in such a manner as to block my view of my foot. I don't think I can stand seeing my flesh opened even if there was anesthetic. Speaking of which, the application of anesthesia was the only painful part. They brought out a cartoonishly large syringe with a long needle to match. He stuck it in a place I won't mention. It stung like hell. After a while, I couldn't feel a thing, at least, until he began to work. I felt him poking and prodding so I said, "Doc, it's not enough!" So he decided to stick the needle in and inject a little more anesthetic. For God's sake.

It went by quickly, I was unusually chatty. I tend to get chatty when I'm under the knife. I remember being operated on years before. I was a blabbermouth in the operating room. I bet they were relieved when the knock-out gas kicked in.

You have to cut all the way to the nail bed in surgery for an ingrown toenail. After he tugged on some things, he showed me the bit that was digging into my flesh. It looked like a shard of glass. 

So he wrapped it up, I paid the fees and bought the medicines and that was it. The toe needed to be wrapped up when I take a bath so the doctor recommended that I buy condoms to wrap my toe in. I felt the need to inform the pharmacist that I needed the condom for my feet. I'm not sure what she made of that.

I'm just going to let my toenails grow out from now on.