The Doctor Is In

So the other night, after a lovely dinner with friends, my husband went upstairs and pulled all his toenails off.

Okay, that’s not entirely accurate. He pulled four of his toenails off. I’d show you all a picture if I didn’t think it’d make you hurl.

My husband, Tenzin, has been battling toenail fungus for the last five years or so. He’s taken the anti-fungal medication, but fungus is tenacious. One foot did just fine, but the other is a hanger-on-er. Just won’t take the hint.

So the next remedy? Remove the toenail. And, because Tenzin’s a doctor, hey, why not do it at home? He’s been talking about trying this for months, but I’ve cringed at the idea. The other day I even said, “Why don’t you have so-and-so (our doctor friend) do it over at his place when we go there for dinner?” I know — medical families are weird. You’ve seen behind the curtain.

The thing is, if you’re good friends with a doctor, there’s a better than average chance that he’s stitched you up in his kitchen. Or drained your abscess in his living room. Or stuck you with some sort of needle for some reason on some particular occasion. I can’t count on two hands how many times I’ve been “worked on.” Tenzin did a little minor surgery on my hand about 15 years ago, and I woke up on the dining room floor. Apparently I’d passed out. But what can I say — it beat passing out at my doctor’s office for 300 bucks.

And then there are the critters. Tenzin’s been known to bring home “souvenirs” from the emergency room for the children. Like the tick he took off some poor bastard’s scrotum (lord only knows the story behind how that got there). We don’t really have ticks in our part of the country, so “Mr. Tickles” was quite the celebrity. Then there was “Scorpy” the scorpion. After he stung an old woman, she couldn’t manage to kill him, so she decided to capture him and bring him into the hospital with her (again, don’t ask).

Incidentally, I won’t freak anyone out further by mentioning exactly how long these “house guests” lived with us. Suffice to say, ticks and scorpions can go a very long time without sustenance.

But back to the toenails. Imagine my surprise that night when I walked in and found a small operating room on the floor of my bathroom. Many moons ago, I was actually on my way to becoming a doctor, so I’m not super, duper squeamish. But this. . . let’s just say that the part in Syriana when George Clooney is having his fingernails pulled out is one of those “stick with you till you die” scenes for me.

How Tenzin does this type of thing, I’ll never know. But if you’re ever in the E.R., getting stuck with needles, just remember the guy who numbed up his own toes with lidocaine (he said the first stick was “a little tough”) and took his nails off. Incidentally, he quit at four nails because he’d already used his limit on lidocaine, so he didn’t want to give himself a seizure and scare me (thanks honey).

Hopefully I’ll be out when he does that last one. Maybe he’ll just get the kids to help.