A few weeks ago, I started feeling a pain in my toe, which I knew to be a minor ingrown toenail. It came as somewhat of a surprise, since I threw away my pointy-toed, beautiful green mules. The ones with the buttons on them THAT I LOVED. On several occasions I had sewn and glued them back together with a range of adhesives, including glue dots, masking tape, scotch tape and possibly spray adhesive.

Usually I deal with these minor annoyances myself, despite the horrific pain that comes with trying to pry one’s toenail away from the toe enough to cut out the offending piece. This time, however, I just didn’t have the steadiness of hand to get all the way to the nailbed, which was also the source of the pain.

A few days later, while someone was trying to talk to me about work and I couldn’t concentrate due to said toe pain, I decided once and for all–without knowing if my coverage included it–to make an appointment with a podiatrist. In the back of my head I thought it would be quick and easy and I would walk out pain-free. Voila! I think this silly idea came to me from a physical therapy elective course I took in high school, where a married podiatrist couple came to speak. They did a weird foot-ultrasound procedure to hear our foot pulse. Did you even know you have a pulse in your foot? I also seem to remember a statement about how they loved their careers because [in fixing an ingrown toenail?] they were able to make people instantly feel better.

What they didn’t say is that if you instantly feel better, it’s because your toe is completely numb due to not one but THREE local anesthetic shots. They also don’t mention that when the doctor says, “Oh yeah, I’m going to use this here chemical [read: acid] so the nail won’t grow back, but don’t worry — your toe will look exactly the same” he is lying about the last part. I look at details for a living. I’m going to notice if the nail on my right toe is an eighth of an inch narrower than my left toenail. Especially when my toenail is barely an inch wide.

Here we are, a few seconds after and looking quite comedic.

At this point, I am still cheery because I have not really seen my toe yet. I quickly find out that the experience is far from over. I have at least twelve days of a soaking regimen that seems to take forever and kind of grosses me out. Then I have to go BACK and see this doctor again. Lovely. I really want to come back to this office where old people shoes are born (no kidding, the beige scariness you see every elderly person wearing? They’re sold on a rotating tree stand in the waiting room of your local podiatrist’s office).

The soaking routine goes like this: Gather materials: q-tips, soap, epson salts, neosporin, bandaids, a timer, a book and a towel. Bring trash can closer. Sit on edge of tub and begin procedure: Remove bandage. Gawk at grossness that is the toe. Put soap on toe. Rinse toe. Pour warm water into pan large enough for foot. [for me, this is a brownie-size pyrex dish. I know, my feet are small. It fits in diagonally. (I will understand if you gracefully decline my brownie offerings after reading this. More for me, yummm.)

Measure 2 tablespoons of epsom salts into dish and swish it around until they dissolve. Insert foot. (I know, I’m good at that part.) Set timer for 10 minutes. Read book. Try to ignore the pain of SALT. IN. WOUND. At some point during the 10 minutes, use q-tips to swish around in the wound. I’m not sure I’m being effective with this, but it seems a lot less painful than using the alternate “soft bristled brush” like my instructions said. Yeowch! When timer goes off, catch it so it doesn’t fall off the toilet into the nasty that is behind-the-toilet. Then dry off foot, use q-tip to add neosporin to wound and put a new bandaid on. Avoid putting bandaid on too tightly, or the latter three steps must be repeated.

One unexpected difficulty that has been added to the soaking procedure: keep cats from drinking and/or sitting in epsom solution. Besides soaking, epsom salts can also be ingested for a laxative effect (who knew?) - and I’m sure this can only mean danger for my cats who follow me into the bathroom and jump into the shower to use the residual water for their own kind of bath. While I love that they copy me and want to be a part of my routine, I am also fearful of getting some kind of cat scratch toe disease…

The soaking routine continued, largely uneventful, until just two days before my follow-up appointment. The left toe started hurting. My own pathetic methods of relief weren’t working, and I feared I was only doing more damage than good. Why?? Was this toe jealousy? I can hear that left toe now, “How come she gets all this attention? I don’t get anything! I’ll show you! mmMMh! There! Take that!” And the irritation ensued.

My doctor took one look at that puppy and the follow up appointment became toe surgery number two. Meanwhile I held a People magazine in front of my face, trying to ignore Britney and praying my insurance will not screw me. Again.

Here we are with two damaged big toes.

In the awkward small talk that accompanies unsightly surgical procedures, my doctor tells me that I have tiny toes. More specifically, “a child’s toes.” I guess he should know since he looks at feet immeasurably more than most people, but should I be flattered? Girls generally want to have small feet. But child-like??

For the longest time I hated my feet, which are perfect replicas of my mother’s (no offense, Mom). As a child, they were so thin I had a difficult time finding shoes that fit and my heels were always popping out of my shoes. But more than anything else, my foot insecurities stemmed from the second toes, which were significantly longer than all the others. Once I even measured one with a ruler. Because of these absurdly lengthy “boss toes,” as I call them, I didn’t wear sandals in public (or to school) until I was in college. To this day, I have never owned a pair of peep-toe dress shoes. They just don’t work on me. And yet with all of my foot issues, never once have I been concerned that my toes are child-like!

I am choosing to take it as a compliment. (to self: Compliment. Compliment.)

Ah well, back to soaking. By now I’ve finished my book. Now we’re playing Dr. Wario on the Gameboy. The cat sits in the tub with me, waiting.