Just Kidding...

So yesterday I wrote about my impending surgery and the hyperventilation inducing fear I have of getting shots, in my toe, that everyone says, "Is the worst part!"  Today, I sit here unshot, and that's fine by me! 

Sylvia and I got to the doctor's office and were led to the "trauma room" to sit down.  I told the nurse that I should probably lay down to be safe.  She thought I was kidding.  Nope!  She got out all sorts of modern day torture devices, bottles of clear liquid, long metal scissors, a chainsaw, a hockey mask, gauze, bottles of red liquid, "sclapels" (on a side note...are you inspired by going to a doctor who doesn't know how to spell? I am not!), absorbent mats, bandages, pliers (but those may have been left over by the guy working on the air-conditioning) and finally needles (and even though it's the Christmas season...the needles were not of the pine variety!) 

I was instructed to remove my shoe and sock and Sylvia gave me one of "those" looks.  Apparently I had used my Sunday socks to go to the doctor on a Tuesday.  You know, they were holey.  Good thing the nurse didn't see.  It would be awful if anyone besides our family realized that I didn't have the judgement needed to know when it was time to retire a pair of socks.  According to Sylvia, this is especially troubling considering I "Just got new socks for [my] birthday!"  It's probably best that nobody knows but Sylvia and me. 

The nurse took a look at my toe and said, "Well this isn't the worst I've seen.  The doctor usually doesn't do anything when the toe looks like this."  Are those clouds parting?  Do you hear an angel chorus singing?  Why is she touching the wrong toe?  Then she says, "We'll see, he may want to take care of it for you." 
"umm, nurse, that's not the one I'm worried about.  That other one is what my regular doc wanted fixed."
"Oh yeah, well the doc will take a look but he may not do anything."
"I'll hold you to it!"
"I said may not.  Just relax."

Oh great, now I am thinking that not only will he want to fix the one I came in for, the other one is starting up as well!  He'll probably say that since I am here, and since I have two weeks off, and since I paid him a lot of money so that I could sit on the couch all day...and possibly stretch it into two or three (since I heal slowly...cough cough) let's just do all the toes on both feet!  This is the mania that revolves around a needle phobic while sitting on the bed of trauma! 

After the chainsaw sounds from the next room stopped, and the screams quieted to a resigned whimper, the doctor walked into my room.  He said something like, "Hi, I'm Dr. Kevorkian.  Would you like 'the special'?"  and then he raised both fists like he was lifting a barbell and laughed maniacally at the ceiling!  The room was spinning pretty badly at this point.  For some reason Sylvia was singing "You'll shoot your eye out!  You'll shoot your eye out!" like the mom on A Christmas Story...but I swear it isn't because I have jammies from that movie.  And while I'm on that subject...I also do not have Iron Man jammies as well.  I only write the blog while wearing my tuxedo.  I think it classes the place up a bit.

The doctor donned the hockey mask, reached for the chainsaw, and looked at my toe.  "Hmm, well this isn't good at all.  Nurse call down to maintenance and tell them we won't need the shop vac to clean up the gore after all...I can't chop anything off these toes.  Drat."  Then the mask came off and he started to come into focus.  He was my newest bestest friend!  He then explained that the nail that is ingrowing isn't far enough along to "fix" and that the other one isn't ingrown at all.  Apparently I have an infection that causes nails to grow like they are trying to get into the Guinness Book of World Records.  "Slather on this medicine for the next three months and you should be fine." 
"Did you just say 'slather'?  and "Three months!?"
"Yes, there are three ways to deal with this.  One, slather.  Two, take very expensive pills for three months that will make your liver and kidneys look for new residency..."
"...and three doc?"
"well, we could declaw you, like a cat!"  Then he did the whole laugh at the ceiling thing again! 
He didn't actually say that, but he did describe a fairly involved procedure in fairly gory detail.  I really hope he doesn't have a side business of writing greeting cards.

So the doc gave Sylvia and I the instructions of what to do for the next 3 to 6 months and said, "So Sylvia, he's fine and I see no reason why he can't go shopping, with you, ALL DAY LONG!"

And then Sylvia did the whole laugh at the ceiling thing!