Mr. Hawthorne's Toe Nail Surgery.

DISCLOSURE: If you are squeamish about certain bodily functions and surgical procedures, DO NOT GO ANY FURTHER. (I offer this up because one time I put up a picture on my blog of my bruised, stubbed toe, and Sister Hawthorne raised hell.) About 3 years ago, Mr. Hawthorne was running up the front steps to our house and hit his left big toe square in the front of the steps. He lost the nail. Later on, it was painin' him so bad, he went to a podiatrist who took care of it. A year later, he had to have the procedure done again. And today, he went in for the full Monty- where the doctor cut down both sides of his toe nail and then inserted a a carbolic acid stick into the sockets on either side- three on each side, for 30 seconds each. I was there to photographically record everything. I would love to post the pictures, but Xmaskatie told me if I did, then no one would ever come back to my blog again. I kinda agree. It is a food blog. But I like to think of my blog as being about more than food. I like to think about my blog as life experiences accented by food. Hell, last year, if there was anyway I could have blogged my hernia surgery, I'd have done that in a heartbeat. Anyways, I'm in the doctor's office with Mr. Hawthorne, laid out like a patient etherized on a table. (See T. S. Eliot; The Love song of J. Alfred Prufrock.) Oh well, he wasn't etherized. He was just shot up in his toe with novocain. Anyways, I'm shooting pics, and the doc says to me, "Let me give you my email address. I'd really like to see those pictures." And I'm all like, "Yeah, cool." So I shoot the before pics of Mr. H's deformed toe, then the tourniquet pics with the strap around his toe, then the needle shots (Needles don't bother me at all, but they sure do Mr. H.), then the surgery and cutting and pulling and all. I'm shooting away, perfectly fine, and thanking Mr. Hawthorne for this opportunity, then the Good Doctor starts taking the acid sticks and sticking them in his toe sockets on either side. I don't know what it was. Maybe the smell of the acid. All of a sudden, the doctor looks up at me and asks, "Are you OK?" I swallowed hard and said, "Yeah, I'm fine." Liar, liar, pants on FIRE! I had become extremely hot, as in sweating profusely. And my extremities were all a-tingle. And I felt nauseous. I thought it would be very easy for me to throw up. I've had two panic attacks in my life and I wouldn't wish those on my worst enemies which of course I have no enemies, but I was seriously thinking I was going to have another one. Another panic attack. Not another enemy. Mr. Hawthorne said he had looked at me when the doctor asked me that and he told me I was white as a sheet. I don't know what happened. I think the smell of the acid had something to do with it. I'd love to show you the pictures. But, like Xmaskatie said, you'd never come back here again. But if you really want to see them, you can always e-me.