Sometimes I write letters to Ellen DeGeneres. No particular reason. Just because I can.
Last week was one hell of a week. On Monday, I had a minor surgical procedure on my toe. My primary care doctor had attempted this procedure a few years ago and it was so painful that I threw up in the middle of it. After that, she suggested if I was to attempt having my toenail removed again, that I should have it done by a podiatrist.
That’s what happened on Monday. I had a podiatrist remove my toenail. Surprisingly, the procedure wasn’t that bad this time. I felt a lot of pressure but no pain.
The post-op instructions were simple. Soak my foot twice a day in warm water with epsom salt. I was actually excited about that. I thought it’d be like giving myself a pedicure; I could sit in the bathroom for up to ten minutes without the kids and have some quiet time while I soaked my foot in warm water.
What was I thinking????? I’ll tell you what I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t thinking about that whole “rubbing salt in a wound” saying. Can you say OUCH!!! The first time I soaked my foot in the salt water, it was so painful I thought I was going to vomit. I didn’t; but I came close.
After soaking my foot I had to apply two antibiotic drops on the toe and then cover it with a bandage. What’s worse than soaking a wounded toe in saltwater, Ellen? Those FRICKIN’ drops!!!! That’s what’s worse! Holy toasted tamales with extra anchovies! I thought my foot was on fire.
After the first full day of treatment the following days went something like this. I’d spend twenty minutes mentally preparing to soak my foot and then spend five minutes (the minimum required time) actually soaking my foot. And then there was the application of the horrid drops. I’ll give you a made up time frame to give you an idea of things went.
10:00 a.m. – 10:05 a.m. – Foot is soaked.
10:05 – 10:15: I stand by the sink giving myself a pep-talk. “I can do this. I can totally do this. It’ll be fine. It’ll hurt for the next thirty years, but it’ll be fine.”
10:15 – 10:30: “Will anyone really know if I don’t apply the drops to my toe? People miss medication doses all the time and survive. I could miss one application and I’d probably be fine too.”
10:30 – 10:45: (Opens bathroom door): “What in the world are you two doing in there? Did someone poop? Why do I smell poop?”
10:45-10:50: (Changes diaper)
10:50 – 10:55: (Standing in front of the mirror holding the drops) “I can do this. I will do this. I have to do this. I can’t stand here all day talking to myself. I’m doing this. I. Am. Doing. This.”
10:55 – 11:05: “But seriously. It’s not like the doctor is ever going to know I missed the drops one time. What’s she going to do? Look at my toe in two weeks and ask, did you miss your morning drops on the 31st?”
11:07 – (I apply the drops) “Oh my frickin’ butterballs! Holy goat cheese on swiss! For the love of baked beans! Were these drops manufactured by terrorists?”
That was last week. I have six more applications to go before I can stop using the satan-made antibiotic drops. Six. More. Painful. Times.