Tale of the Toenail

If you gag easily, stop reading now.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

If you must know, I have removed ¾ of the toenail on the big toe of my left foot.

It all started one day when I was working in the yard. The wheelbarrow full of bricks that I was pushing turned over. The edge landed on my big toe. For whatever reason, I wasn’t wearing the steel-toed, waterproof boots I have purchased for such tasks. And that is why I am sporting, at the beginning of sandal season, a nail-less toe.

When I lost control of said evil wheelbarrow and it landed on my toe, spilling its contents, I said bad words; very unladylike, longshoreman bad words. In fact, a red tailed hawk was flying over and I saw him blush. The purple martins had their wingtips over the ears of their hatchlings. And my lovely, sweet Yorkies stood there with their heads tipped to the side. The words were remarkable even for my potty mouth.

Don’t trip over the word ladylike written in the previous paragraph. Admittedly, I’ve never been accused of being ladylike. There has never been a place in my life where ladylike would serve me well. I wouldn’t have survived this long had I been caught up in ruffles and a demure persona.

So as I picked the wheelbarrow up off of my now pulsing toe, I bellowed the words that brought a release of pent up frustration and adrenaline, which allowed me to survive the throbbing toe and nausea. I even managed to not wet myself. Then I moved on in an attempt to complete the task at hand before succumbing to an aching back and darkness. Sadly, I didn’t remove my muddy, wet sneakers or tend my cracked toenail.

The bruise subsided in a couple of weeks, the nail grew out and I paid little regard to my toes beyond slapping on a coat of polish now and then. Recently, I noticed that the polish was darker on one side of my nail, but discounted it as stain from my black socks that I wear every day. But then I went to get a pedicure and the technician was able to slide the tool she was using to clean my nails completely under my nail. Oh yes. I had a detached toenail from a dreaded nail fungus. She cleaned it up and told me to come back in two weeks and she would help me get it cleared up. Back at home I began spraying an antifungal on my toes twice a day. I also started sleeping with Vicks vapor rub on the toenail. I fully intended to return to the nail technician. But as I was sitting in the bathtub a week or so later, I noticed that I could pull my nail clear up off of the nail bed. Worried that I would get an infection in my toe, I began clipping away the loose nail until nothing was left but the white quick. Then I went to the onsite doctor at work. He confirmed my suspicions and told me that the nail being gone was a good thing. We agreed that an oral treatment wasn’t necessary since the risk outweighs the benefit. I would have to have my liver function monitored. Since my liver is likely pickled from my close personal relationship with Grey Goose, I don’t want anyone monitoring my liver function. So the Doc told me to get Lamisil, use it twice a day and wear opened toe shoes. Right. Don’t count on me exposing my deformity to the world.

I showed iWof my mangled toe and he gagged. Even though iWof is known to have an intense gag reflex, odds are good that I won’t be strapping on sandals any time soon. And I haven’t made it to the store to get the ointment yet either. I’m still using the Tinactin and my home remedy. The ingredients in the vapor rub are the same as in Chigarid, I discovered. So, I’ve been painting my toe with Chigarid which, when dried, keeps my socks from turning my nail bed black.

Personally, I don’t really think it looks all that bad. But then I have, in the past slammed one thumb in a car door and the other in a lead lined door. Both incidents left me nail-less. Once the bruising is gone and the nail begins to grow back, it’s just pink flesh. But any deformity causes iWof to heave. He won’t even look in my direction unless I am wearing socks. But that is okay. I have a new weapon in my arsenal. Any time he won’t do what I ask, I threaten to text him a photo of my sockless foot.

Currently, iWof is doing my laundry. When he’s finished, I’m sending him out to clean the garage.