(continued)
In which our hero learns that not all doctors are equally competent

2 hours in the waiting room passed like somnolent glaciers in the night. Eventually I got into see the doctor, only he didn't actually get to the exam room for another 45 minutes.

He looked at it pushed and prodded and agreed that my toe looked infected and was probably painful. He acknowledged that the cause of the inflammation was unaffected by Amoxicillin and suggested taking a fluid sample for a culture and cleaning the wound to take a more sterile look at it. Okay.

Nurse comes in about 25 minutes later and cleans the affected area and props-up the bed so I can watch the festivities. She also gave me 3 pills: Bacterim, Keflex, and a soothing little narcotic number. Mrs B was seated adjacent and taking it all in for future reference, I'm sure. Nurse gooped-up the flesh with some strange stuff that was Betadine in color by dried to a sort of gelatinous (appear) material over the wound and nearby area. About 15 minutes after nurse finished the doc came in and nearly filled a syringe with lidocaine. (Uh-oh). He switched to a long, yet narrow orificed needle and said, "I'm going to inject the area to make it less painful." I'm thinking "Cool, but I'm not sure I'm going to like sticking that needle into my hyper-sensitive obesely-swollen second tow." By golly, I was right, too!

I watched with dread fascination as he took careful aim and slowly stuck the needle into my toe. YEOW! But then he started foring the lidocaine out of the needle. My tow was already thoroughly engorged with fluid, being extraordinarily swollen. So he was intent on introducing more fluid into a very resistant package. Also, he had to push so hard that he couldn't hold the needle still, so it was wiggling with his muscular tension as he injected the fluid. Finally, it came to an end and I thought, "Gee, that hurt but I'm glad it's over with." Wrong. He repeated the procedure 2-3 more times. One time he pushed so hard that a jet of lidocaine burst through the scab and reached my shoulder. I swear, it's true. Mrs B was changing colors like a hunted squid.

Doc waited a few minutes for the lidocaine to take hold and we learn he is Nigerian. I wish I had asked if he needed any help moving money out of his country, but I didn't think of it at that time. Then he unsleeves a hidden scalpel, like a matador reveals the sword from behind his cape. He sliced into the infected portion and was gratified by a prompt ooze of funky-colored blood. I'm thinking, "Hey, I felt that! Let's wait for the lidocaine to kick in!" But before I could voice my opinion, he put both thumbs on either side of the wound and pushed down HARD, like a zit squeeze by Arnold Schwartzenegger. I swear, my eyes bugged-out of my head. I looked down and sure enough, old silk-hands bubbled-up some crud. He daubed it off with a gauze and then bore-down ever harder for a second attempt at the gold metal.

Now I have to tell you, this was as bad as water-boarding. I would have confessed to damn-near anything if the confession brought relief. There was a gory little mess oozing down my foot and I'm sure I was cross-eyed.

After the nurse cleaned-up the mess and bandaged the toe, doc came back with a prescription for the two antibiotics and for Darvacet. Mrs B drove us home.

Today the swelling has noticeably decreased, the reddness has abated, and the sensitivity to sensation is dramatically reduced. Also, I have a hell of a buzz.

So what did you do for Memorial Day weekend?

B