Toe Removal

It’s been almost a decade since I left my pointe shoes, leotards, and pink tights in a pretty floral bag to sit in the corner of my closet, but my toes never forgot. Crammed like a 10lb sausage link into a 5lb bag, they were mangled into a rigid, blocked format that to this day causes my second toe to buckle while at rest.
My big toes took the major hit. Nail beds disappeared into skin, and my toes ached from the constant pressure. “Ingrown toenail removal,” as it is advertised (if it is ever advertised), seemed like a fairly harmless expedition. A few minutes of your time…a lifetime of comfort.

When we showed up, I anxiously paced the waiting room, realizing I hadn’t yet had enough time to think through the consequences of my actions. My driver, who shall remain nameless, needed to know how long to wait. The receptionist asked my driver what procedure I was getting. “Toe removal,” they said. Toe removal?! No. I did not sign up for this. More shocking is that they clearly didn’t think it was a big deal if I were getting my toe removed. 

Turns out it hurt like heck. But it didn’t matter. I spent my entire hour-long procedure belly laughing in front of a surgical curtain meant to keep me from seeing the damage. 

“So this guy!” I exclaim, not on laughing gas but clearly acting like I was. “He walks into this Dallas hospital this week, literally buzzing. BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.”

I’m laughing so hard my toe is shaking and he has to ground my foot.
“He has an electric toothbrush where the sun doesn’t shine!” I proceed with glee. “Not only is it on, it’s stuck.” I said. “And you know the best part? He says it was an accident! Can you imagine the variables for that to be true?”

I paraphrase below:
1. His toothbrush was ON
2. His toothbrush was standing up on a SEAT
3. He hadn’t yet put on his TROUSERS

The doctor was less than amused with my story, however unoriginal it may be in doctor’s world, but did give credence to my logic. 

I left with what looked like lightbulb-shaped appendages on my big toes and was forced to wear flip flops for three weeks, just as the seasons changed. But at least I could be honest with myself. It wasn’t a pretty procedure, but it sure didn’t stink as bad as toothbrush guys.

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