"There May Be A Gap..."

I have had an ingrown toe nail for many years now. Sometimes it's super painful, sometimes I don't even know it's there, so I've just put off getting it taken care of. However, about a month ago it was really starting to get bad, so I scheduled an appointment to get it removed when I got back from Disneyland. It was done yesterday and let me tell you, it is extremely disturbing.

I've had lots of crazy medical procedures - three surgeries for endometriosis, 5 cortisone injections in various parts of my back, this horrid nerve test where they stick needles with tiny microphones on the end of them into your nerves and listen to them, not to mention the whole birthing a baby. Yet for some reason, THIS procedure has been horrible for me! Not because it's excruciatingly painful - as long as I don't put a shoe on it really doesn't hurt much at all. Because the thought of a portion of my toe nail being pulled from my toe and ripped from the nail bed is seriously giving me nightmares.

Before yesterday morning I thought they basically numbed your toe, lifted the side of the nail and filed it back a bit. Maybe did some cutting, and then put the chemical on it to keep it from growing. You can imagine my horror when the nurse brought in the tray of tools for the procedure. I'm not sure if pregnancy just makes me a giant wuss, but I literally almost passed out seeing that. Then came the doctor's explanation of the procedure, half of which I think I was blacked out for (trust me, you don't wanna hear it). After the clipping and yanking (and maybe a bit of pee in my pants) the doc said cheerily, "That looks great! There's a bit of a gap between the nail and the skin for now, but that should grow back in nicely....do you want to see it before I bandage it up?"

The actual toe could not have been worse then the images in my head after the "gap" comment, but I graciously declined anyway. The rest of the day went ok - my toe was numb until late last night so physically I felt totally fine. Mentally I was a total wreck. Which, in turn, made me feel even worse for being so upset about a toe nail!

Last night I didn't get a whole lot of sleep. I move around a lot in my sleep, so I kept waking up to shooting pain in my toe when I'd hit it against something (my leg, Tom's leg, the cat, etc.). And then there were the nightmares. At first they were somewhat reasonable and made a little sense - a toe nail extraction gone wrong, lots of blood, giant scalpels. Then they turned into weird cosmetic surgery nightmares - I went in for a routine dermatology appointment and then said to the doc, "Hey, while I'm here, do you think you could tighten up my throat and jawline a bit?" "Oh sure," the doc said, "that'll look great! It's a simple procedure...." Then came her opening up the whole side of my face with no anaesthesia. The whole time I'm thinking Oops, I guess I should have asked how much this will cost, and Crap, how am I going to explain the swelling and stitches to Tom? After waking up from that one I warily went back to sleep to find out that my bill for the surgery was $82,000.

This morning I was already wide awake when my alarm went off. I was thinking about post-surgical instruction #1 - Take of dressing the morning after surgery, apply AmeriGel, re-dress. I had to actually LOOK at my toe. I sat down in the bathroom and got it over with, but the image of the "gap" is forever burned into my brain. I did a pretty good job of not thinking about it while getting ready for work, but an hour later as I'm putting my shoes on, I realize this ain't gonna happen. I try a different pair of shoes...nope. I try completely unlacing my running shoes...uh-uh. They all pushed down on top of the nail...on top of the "gap". After trying to have a coherent conversation with Tom about what I should do (impossible at that hour), I decided to just call my boss and work from home today. Tom worked from home today also to help me with Harper and to help keep my mind off the horrible image. I have been doing ok, but I am just a few hour away from having to reapply the gel and I'm getting very nervous.

No wonder I put this off for so long.

Rest in Peace, Rocky

I am a little late in posting this, but wanted to anyway. Last week my in-law's dog Rocky died, and since I was not in attendance at the funeral I wanted to say a few last words.

Besides Tom, Rocky was the first Worton I met. When Tom took me to his parents house after a few weeks of dating, I was met in the driveway by a most friendly and excited Boxer, a short stub of a stick in his mouth, making it look like he was smoking a cigar. It was more then a little overwhelming meeting Tom's entire family that day, but I was comforted every five minutes or so as Rocky would wander over and nuzzle my hand. Although I'm pretty sure he was just wanting me to throw his slobbery ball for him ("Let's see if the new girl will fall for it").

Rocky was a good dog. When Tom and I got Scout 4 years ago, Rocky was his first friend. Not that he was the first dog Scout met, but Rocky was just patient enough to be his friend. When Scout was about 6 months old Tom and I went on vacation to Banff and Scout stayed with Grandma & Grandpa Worton, and I have to say I actually felt kind of bad taking Scout away from Rocky when we returned. Occasionally we bring Scout up for Sunday dinner at the Worton household, and Rocky always looked genuinely pleased to see Scout. I love Scout to death, but he is a lot to handle - Rocky, however, always took it stride, even the incessant humping (Scout is a confused dog).

Rocky had very loving parents. He was not only a good dog, but a lucky one. One Sunday dinner soon after meeting Tom's family, we had a huge waffle dinner. It is always one of my favorites - we have about 5 waffle irons going in the kitchen, and Michele makes several different kinds of syrup. Melani makes her cheesey eggs, and there's usually a wide variety of meat as well (ham, sausage, bacon, etc.). After dinner I was helping with the dishes and noticed there were a few left over waffles. I asked Tom's dad what he wanted me to do with them and he told me to go ahead and give them to Rocky. I picked up the plate, walked over to Rocky's dish and scraped them into his bowl - "No, no, no!!" I heard from Tom's dad. "That's not how he likes it!" The waffles were picked back up, cut into small pieces, and drenched with syrup. The plate was set on the floor and Rocky came running, his stubby tail wagging.

Like many large breed dogs, Rocky had hip problems. Rocky was beyond middle age when it got too bad to let it endure. There are many dog owners who would simply put their dog down in a case like this. It is sad, but surgeries are expensive. However there was only ever one option for Tom's parents. It didn't matter what the surgery cost (and it cost a lot), Rocky was simply another member of the family - they certainly wouldn't have let one of their children go without a hip replacement if needed, so they weren't going to let their dog go without either. It is comforting to see a dog so thoroughly and unconditionally loved as Rocky was.

The love went both ways though. Rocky was a gift to Tyler when he was in high school. At 19 Tyler left for South Africa to serve a two year mission for church, but Rocky did not forget him. The whole family went to South Africa to pick Tyler up when the two years were up, and after flying home, Tom and I went to his parent's house to pick up our car. Tom and his dad starting hauling Tyler's luggage into the house, and immediately Rocky ran to the luggage and starting sniffing it. He ran around in circles, his tail wagging so hard his entire butt was shaking. It was absolutely adorable.

Rest in peace, Rocky - you were loved by all who knew you.