Thursday, August 6, 2009

adventures in podologie

I tend to attract the bizarre. Therefore I can be a royal pain in the ass. When I travel, chances are I will develop or contract something horribly inconvenient given my environs. There was the rather hairy tonsillitis in Rome, the Mexican ulcer attacks, the family cross-country pukathon and of course that time I popped a braces bracket on a Friday night in Bar Harbor. Not to mention the frostbitten kneecap incident.

This time I outdid myself.

But in the process I got to visit the podologue, who surgically fished the jagged, half-inch shard of infected toenail from out of my gros orteil then stuffed a gauze pad soaked in betadine into the cuticle.

Seriously. One wrong pedicure and three weeks later I'm muscling around the south of France on an impacted ingrown toenail... braving the surgery of a very nice woman with a whole arsenal of pointy podiatric torture tools.

I now understand why men at war bite straps of leather and then get all post-op silly on whiskey and pub songs. Oh, the sweet relief.

1 comment:

Kathleen said...

frostbite on your knee!

Also, ingrowns hurt like a m... really bad... thing... does my mom read this?