toenail story

The next few posts are going to take a weird turn. There are some stories I didn’t put in previous blogs that I want to share and this seems like as good a place as any. So here goes.

A few months earlier I had torn one of my large toenails, instead of carefully cutting it nice and square like all the books suggest. By itself no problem. Well they (the mythical they of almost every good story) tell you that because, unless you’re lucky, there is always a tiny piece of toenail under your skin that will turn into a dagger as time goes on.

This little dagger will slowly, inexorably push its way up, turn the quick of your toenail a delightful shade of red and before you know it, you’re hobbling around like a three legged dog; it’s miserable.

While miserable and excruciating you can take care of it with a certain yoga flexibility and a good set of pedicure tools unless you have low platelets and it all turns into a dicey proposition.

I go see my primary care doctor and she looks at it and says, “Hmmm. How low are platelets?”

“About 37,” I say knowing normal is 150 or better.”

“You should probably go see your oncologist about this, with platelets that low, you could bleed all over the place.”

I don’t know why, but when she said it, it made perfect sense. Coincidentally, I had an oncology appointment the next day.

After the obligatory, “Well you look good, and the platelets are low, but climbing back.” I show the doc my foot.

Well he studies it carefully, crosses one arm over the other and puts his hand to his chin as if the answer to cold fusion is rattling between his ears and says, “You need to see a doctor.”