A previously undiscovered finger disease
Read/Post Comments (0)
You know what body part is really easy to take for granted? Your pointer finger. I have, in fact, gone 25 years without thinking about that digit much at all. Thumbs get hit with hammers. The good ol’ middle finger comes in handy every now and again. The ring finger keeps hold of, well, my wedding ring. But the pointer just labors on in relative obscurity.
Until, of course, it turns black on you. That really gets your attention.
It started out as a pain. I was tying my tennis shoes when all the sudden, “Ow. No seriously, ow. Hey, ouch. Mother f...”
The really troubling part (at that point anyway, things were to get much, much worse later) was that there was no obvious reason for the pain. Just a random owie. Probably very much like what a dog experiences with one of those electric collars.
It took about an hour for the discoloration to start. “Discoloration” is a nice word, isn’t it? Let’s be clear. My finger turned BLACK. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. My first joint turned a black-ish purple that faded into a green-ish black which mutated at the second knuckle into something like a ripe plum. And let me tell you, that is disconcerting.
My husband, whose fingers are all still the appropriate flesh color, leaned over and said, “Must’ve bruised it.”
“Really?” I replied. “When?”
“Ya hit it?” he asked.
“No.”
“Twist it?”
“No.”
“Drop something on it?”
“No.”
“I dunno,” he said. “Must be a bruise.”
I should point out here that this is the same man who, when he works on a car, always has some “extra” parts left over. He just puts them in a box in case, oh, say, the engine falls out, and their previous use becomes apparent. Also, his fingers aren’t turning black.
Mine, however, is. And I am entirely convinced that I have a tumor, finger cancer, leprosy, the black plague and ebola all at the same time.
He looks at me like my problem isn’t so much with my finger as with my sanity. “Seriously. It’s bruised.”
Maybe. But in the meantime, I’m taking pictures in the interest of medical research. You never know.
Until, of course, it turns black on you. That really gets your attention.
It started out as a pain. I was tying my tennis shoes when all the sudden, “Ow. No seriously, ow. Hey, ouch. Mother f...”
The really troubling part (at that point anyway, things were to get much, much worse later) was that there was no obvious reason for the pain. Just a random owie. Probably very much like what a dog experiences with one of those electric collars.
It took about an hour for the discoloration to start. “Discoloration” is a nice word, isn’t it? Let’s be clear. My finger turned BLACK. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. My first joint turned a black-ish purple that faded into a green-ish black which mutated at the second knuckle into something like a ripe plum. And let me tell you, that is disconcerting.
My husband, whose fingers are all still the appropriate flesh color, leaned over and said, “Must’ve bruised it.”
“Really?” I replied. “When?”
“Ya hit it?” he asked.
“No.”
“Twist it?”
“No.”
“Drop something on it?”
“No.”
“I dunno,” he said. “Must be a bruise.”
I should point out here that this is the same man who, when he works on a car, always has some “extra” parts left over. He just puts them in a box in case, oh, say, the engine falls out, and their previous use becomes apparent. Also, his fingers aren’t turning black.
Mine, however, is. And I am entirely convinced that I have a tumor, finger cancer, leprosy, the black plague and ebola all at the same time.
He looks at me like my problem isn’t so much with my finger as with my sanity. “Seriously. It’s bruised.”
Maybe. But in the meantime, I’m taking pictures in the interest of medical research. You never know.
Read/Post Comments (0)
Previous Entry :: Next Entry
Back to Top
