Ooze! (not for the squeemish)

I just removed the last splintered fragments of an ingrown toenail from my left foot (I'll spare you any pictures since I'm already going to hear about this post from the weaker stomached members of my family).  With the suggestion-cum-ultimatum from Melissa that we would go to the doctor on Monday if it didn't get better, I decided to take matters into my own hands, again.  You see I tried to cut out the offending nail about three days ago, but only made things worse.  Overnight, my toe went from swollen and painful to swollen, bloody, oozy, stiff, and painful.  Every time I wore anything except sandals my toe would throb as if my entire circulatory system resided in my left foot, and at the end of the day, my socks would stick to my toe like an old bloody gauze bandage.  It didn’t hurt all the time, but if I twisted it wrong, or if a little two year old foot landed on it, or sometimes for no reason at all, my toe would sting as if I’d just hit it with a hammer, stabbed it with a rusty nail, and then soaked it in lemon juice.
 
Tonight I approached the task systematically, clinically.  First I soaked my toe in extremely hot water, spiked with just a hint of tea tree oil to help the infection.  Then I gathered my tools: one pair of pointy kitchen shears, some tweezers, a bent-open safety pin, some fingernail clippers, and a box of tissues.  Next I sterilized my equipment over our gas stove and set them down to cool.  It was operation time.
 
Holding my foot into the dim kitchen light as much as possible, I began gingerly prodding at the swollen flesh so as to reveal the edge of the nail I had cut a few days ago.  This caused blood, and puss, and other unfamiliar liquids to ooze from various crevasses.  I wiped the area clean with a tissue. After locating the cut point I next had to negotiate the tip of a large pair of kitchen shears underneath the renegade nail as far as my pain threshold would allow me (which is about equivalent to half the thickness of a postage stamp).  This caused more blood, puss etc. to ooze, which I dabbed again with a tissue.  My attempts at gently working the scissors under the nail weren’t working, so I bit my lip, and just pushed.  After driving the blade to a depth I thought would be sufficient for the scissors to cut rather than just slip over the nail, I clamped down on the handle and made a clean slice into the nail.  

However, because the surrounding flesh was so swollen, the loose fragment was now pushed inward towards the underside of the remaining nail, rather than outward where it needed to be so I could pluck it out with the tweezers.  Setting down the scissors, I next reached for the bent safety pin.  The safety pin has the dual benefit of having a larger shaft than a typical sewing needle, and when bent properly, having its own handle.   With the safety pin, I slowly began to work the now splintering fragment out from under the main nail.  In the process I realized that there was a large fragment of nail left over from my first attempt that was detached from the root but still imbedded in the swollen flesh ( By ‘realize, I mean I unexpectedly bumped into it with the needle, and about bit through my lip because it hurt so bad).

“That’s why it has hurt so much,” I said to myself, feeling a bit like I do when I can’t find my keys, and I tear the whole house apart looking for them, only to find them in the cargo pocket of the shorts I’m wearing.  Having located this floating fragment, I picked up the tweezers and with a little effort grabbed hold of it and pulled.  It didn’t come the first time, but did the second, and with it more blood, puss, and other oozing obstacles, which I again dabbed with a tissue.  Following this fragment back along the side of the nail I discovered more ‘left-overs,’ and removed them as well.  I made one more cut with the scissors, pulled one more small fragment out with the tweezers, and then ended the ordeal with another short foot soak.  

My toe is now weeping gentle amber colored tears of relief, and all I can do is go to bed and wait.  Tomorrow if the swelling has gone down and the pain has dissipated, that will be the first indication of victory.  In two weeks, if the nail begins to grow without causing any more swelling or discomfort, I will consider the operation a success.  Perhaps I should just go to the doctor, lie back on the cool vinyl of the examination table, and turn my foot over to a professional.  Maybe these delicate matters of blood, flesh, and stainless steel should be left to men and women in white coats.   Maybe when my sink leaks, or my car engine stops, or my computer spits an error at me, I should just throw up my hands, and call somebody.  But then, in the words of my father-in-law, “Why should they get all the fun?”