One more foot-themed entry! Last one!
September 20, 2011I am in love with all of you, and your bristly squirrel toes. (Squirrel? I don't know, I just wanted something that wasn't "hobbit.") You are terrific. Come here please and sit on my lap.
I feel like I want to confess more things now, but that's pretty much all I have. That's my darkest secret. Hairy toes. Okay, maybe I have some olde-timey skeletons rattling around in my closet, but as for current habits that I find more or less embarrassing, shaving my toes is right up there.
All this toe-talk is reminding me of an anecdote I promised to share with you months ago. I am always doing this. The moment I write "I swear that I will soon tell you this funny thing!" I then lose all desire to write it. I immediately lapse into sulky adolescent mode, like you're all my MOM and you keep telling me WHAT TO DO. Quit it! You're not the boss of me! I got this new Gang of Four cassette and I'm going to turn it up super loud!
I wrote previously that this story involved hitting myself with a hammer, and then after I published the post I realized it wasn't a hammer at all and I wrote "hammer" when I meant something else entirely. It was a dictionary. I have a very very specific neurological condition wherein I switch "dictionary" and "hammer." This makes for some confusing times at the library, I'll tell you what!
(Does anyone go to the library to look at a dictionary? I mean, even before the Internet?)
Actually I do know why I said "hammer," and it will soon become clear! Get ready!
This event occurred a while ago, before Henry was around, or Charlie, even; I was living with Scott, as we have been together since the dawn of time. One day I woke up to find this hard lump on the top of my foot. It was as if it just popped up while I was sleeping, and oh it rubbed against my Doc Martens (early '90s!) and really put a damper on my fun times as a young editrix in Manhattan's glamorous glimmering midtown.
I tried thicker socks and looser shoes, but it was still pretty uncomfortable. Because I am me, I assumed I had some kind of rare foot-based cancer. I cried some, while staring out the window, thinking about everyone who would miss me. I didn't go to a doctor, of course; instead I called all my friends about it, usually while I was at work. One friend took it upon herself to find a diagnosis, and it happened that she worked in an office that also had a nurse in it. I'm really not clear on what she was doing. Some kind of insurance work? Maybe the woman was a former nurse? MAYBE MY FRIEND WAS A DOCTOR? At any rate there was an R.N. in her office, and she consulted the nurse lady, who said it sounded like a ganglion cyst.
I had never heard of that and I figured it was another word for "horrible lump-based giver of death." But she went on to explain that it's a harmless growth that's actually filled with fluid, even though it seems hard.
The thing to do, she told me, was to smash it. Hit it really hard with something heavy, she promised, and it would burst and go away. She instructed me to hit it with a big book, like a dictionary, or (you guessed it) a hammer.
I do not generally leap at the chance to abuse myself with heavy things, but I was assured (BY A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL) that whacking myself in this way would be relatively painless and anyway a small price to pay for the ability to wear Doc Martens again. And what if it did hurt? I was already mildly uncomfortable all the time, and maybe that mild discomfort was worse to bear than one moment of extreme ouchiness?
After a pep talk administered by my friend and her nurse-pal, I arrived home from work determined to beat the shit out of my foot until this thing was gone. "One good whack should do it," I was instructed, but I'd go for forty if I had to.
Scott was not yet home, which was unfortunate, because if he had been there he would have gently removed the book from my hands. Then again he might have beaten up my foot himself, if I asked. He's awfully accommodating.
I went into our living room and fetched our heaviest book, which happened to be a dictionary. (Related: remember owning dictionaries? Oh, the past!) I mean, it wasn't the OED, but it was pretty damn hefty. I removed my shoes and socks, and then I brought that dictionary down on my foot, hard.
It hurt.
I checked the lump. Still there.
I brought it down again. Rechecked: still there. And again. By now I was panting a little. Again, no change in the lump. I went on like this for a while. I whomped my foot with this dictionary--harder than a reasonable person should really hit themselves with things--determined, as I was, to pop this cyst.
Finally, I lay on the ground, panting and sweating. I looked at my foot, and the cyst was gone. GONE! Success! I had probably shattered my foot, but at least I wouldn't have to deal with that lump!
Then I tenderly prodded the top of my foot, and there it was, just as hard and knobby as it had been before my assault. I just couldn't see it because the rest of my foot had swelled up around it.
And that is pretty much the end of my story. I still have that damned lump. My friend's nurse friend suggested I try again (WITH A HAMMER) so I called the police on her. (Wouldn't that be great, if you could call the police on anyone who gave you terrible awful advice? And who was this nurse person, giving advice to total strangers? I have real-life doctor friends who wouldn't give me advice if their lives depended on it. They're all CALL YOUR DOCTOR I CAN'T MAKE A DIAGNOSIS OVER THE PHONE before I'm done saying hello. They know me so well.)
You might notice, if you check the Wikipedia entry I linked to above, that it mentions NOT TO HIT A GANGLION CYST BECAUSE HITTING IT DOES NOT WORK. Oh, Wikipedia, I needed you back then.
I don't notice my lumpen left foot these days because I very rarely wear shoes that are anything like Doc Martens, i.e. hard-topped lace-up type shoes. I actually did buy a pair of Oxfords a while back and then I gave up because of my horrible disfigurement. I can wear all kinds of other shoes, though! I'm a normal person just like you or you!
What I couldn't get over for the longest time is how very hard I was willing to hit myself because I thought it was a good idea. The hardest part was giving up, frankly. I wanted to keep going. I think I only stopped because Scott got home and took the dictionary away from me forever and ever. And then he put the dictionary online so I wouldn't be a danger to myself any longer. He is so very good to me.
Reader Comments (42)
I swear I'm not laughing at your expense. That would be wrong.
I must have missed that day in nursing school when "hit you foot with a heavy book or hammer" to cure a cyst was discussed.
Holy shit!
You know, you could get it drained. They insert a rather large needle and wiggle it around, sucking up as much synovial fluid as possible. I used to get that done on my wrist semi-regularly until I had the cyst surgically removed (which I don't particularly recommend; my wrist was weak and painful off and on for YEARS afterward).
This is like the foot version of Gerald's Game or 127 Hours. The horrible pain we will inflict on ourselves as we try to save ourselves.
I am also not laughing at you....no really.
I had one of those on the back of my hand! It popped up out of nowhere and was about the size of a Reese's mini peanut butter cup. It lasted a couple of months and then vanished one day as suddenly as it had appeared. Like a leprechaun or Santa Claus or something. It didn't hurt, but I hated having it in such a visible spot.
Someone at work told me I was supposed to hit it with a dictionary and offered to do it for me (we very conveniently worked in a bookstore). I'm obviously not as badass as you because I refused.
OMG. Laughing so hard. Because that's so something I would do if a medical professional told me to.
Also? I just got my first laser hair treatment last month. My only instructions to her? "Don't forget my toes."
A bible is the book you're supposed to use, not a dictionary. Thar's bound to be why it didn't work. Couldn't be that it's an old wives tale.
are there so few honest people in blogland? I am laughing myself sick at the image, and that's why you posted at long last, I hope, because it is the ridiculous kind of thing we ALL would do and that's why it's so weak-knee -making funny-- I can feel the heft of the book or the hammer and the not giving up. Congratulations on freeing the ganglion cyst story!
Oh, dictionaries! So useful for so many things. Booster seats, door stops, and - on rare occasions - homework.
Not cysts, though? Good to know. I will refrain from hitting my foot with the laptop if I ever find a lump there. See? You're Helping The Internet People by sharing your stories! Very nice of you!
I was told the same thing by a doctor! A doctor at student health. Who didn't speak much English. And showed me how she had one too. Why didn't I question the fact that she hadn't used the magical dictionary cure on herself?
Yes! People do still come to the library and use the dictionary (to look up words, I've not seen anyone whack their ganglion cyst with a dictionary, but last week I babysat a crawdad for a patron so who knows, it could (and probably will) happen tomorrow.)
Dear Alice,
You bring joy to my day.
Your faithful reader,
OWB
I had one of those on my wrist.
Until I slipped on some ice last winter, landed on my bent-back hand, and BURST THE CYST. Ew.
Thank you. I really needed to laugh like that today. Also: I absolutely love Mary's comment that you clearly were meant to use a Bible rather than a dictionary. And Sierra's comment about babysitting a crawdad for a library patron. Basically, I just love that smart, funny people comment on this blog--your own writing always makes me terribly happy, but the smart and/or funny comments are totally a value-added feature. So thanks to everyone here!
(Also, Alice, did you mean for that last paragraph to sound so suddenly metaphorical and wise? Because I so often feel that way, even without literally whacking myself in the foot with a dictionary...)
Ha! I love this story because I can relate. I discovered one of these at the base of my middle finger a few years ago, and it hurt. I was freaked out so I googled it, and figured out it was probably one of these cysts, which it also says are known as "bible cysts" because people used to hit them with bibles since that was often the heaviest book they owned. Fascinating, I know. It says not to hit it, but one day it burst when I accidentally hit it on a door handle. It came back though, and then after a long while it just disappeared and didn't return. Weird little things, those cysts.
The doctor will offer to surgically remove it, if you show it to him. They say draining doesn't really work. Gross.
You are just so damn funny!
Don't feel alone. I can't wear heels because of my gigantic natural bunion, and I can't wear ballet flats because of my narrow heels. That leaves me with flip flops and oversized sneakers.
For obvious reasons this is reminding me of the movie 'A Serious Man' and Uncle Arthur who has to spend hours in the bathroom draining his sebaceous cyst.
(OMG I spelled sebaceous right, according to Firefox spellcheck! I should have gone to medical school.)
I agree with those people who said you were supposed to use a Bible. Try it! Couldn't hurt, right?
I had one, too! On my right wrist. And, boy-oh-boy, did I hate it. A MEDICAL DOCTOR pressed (not hit) down on it with one of his heavy MEDICAL books in his office! It did not work! It finally just went away on its own. I saw one on a friend the other day and was re-traumatized. I hope talking about it doesn't bring it back.
Again with the laughing! Thank you! And I still own a dictionary. I am teaching my children to use it. You never know....
I named mine Rufus, he lives on the back of my right hand. In college he was large enough that I had a hard time writing. I had to buy a mini-tape recorder from Radio Shack and taught myself to write left-handed. I think there may be clues to my age in that last part. Anyway, I was diagnosed & told to absolutely not hit it with a bible or other large book. My aunt is a firm believer in mind over matter & told me to wish it into the cornfield. I don't know what helped, but it's definitely better.
I have a ganglion on the palm of my right hand, just under my little finger. I am sort of glad that no one ever advised me to hit it with something really hard, because I am sure at one point, I would have done it.
PS, I still have a giant dictionary, that must weigh 10kg (22lbs) minimum. I pull it out when I need to press flowers, or weigh down things.
I have a very specific neurological condition where I switch "umbrella" and "balloon" around. Really. Also, sometimes elevator gets thrown in there. Because they all go up? Very strange.
Yes! I have one of those! It's on my wrist. I used to have one on my other wrist, but that went away, and now this one showed up. Anyway, I asked my brother's girlfriend about it (she was in med school at the time) and she called it a "bible cyst," because apparently people used to hit them with bibles to make them burst and go away!
I chose not to do that (also, we don't own a bible).