My Big Toe and the 7 year mystery

So this is a story of international intrigue stretching from the beaches of Miami to the beaches of Barbados.  And the centerpiece of the tale is my big toe.

On 17 February 1998, I was honeymooning in Miami Beach with my new husband.  We decided to take a drive to Key Biscayne and explore the lovely park there on a surrey style bike (available for rent at the park).  Like the bikes on boardwalks, there was one place to steer and two places to pedal.  We reached a point at the end of the path where Husband had to get out and manually push the bike to turn it around. He told me to get in the steering area and, as I was doing so, but before my sandaled feet were in position, he began pushing.  In a freaky turn of events, a bike blade caught my left big toe and sliced through it.  After feeling the impact, I looked down and saw blood streaming from my toe, and my toenail was not there.  It got pulverized.  He jumped in the steering seat.  I moved over with my toe dangling off to the side still streaming blood.   The puddle of blood left behind looked like a crime scene.  Husband had to pedal back himself to the main area. Which took some time.

Back in the main parking lot, a ranger gave us first aid----inadvertently getting my blood on her ungloved hands.  She then directed us to the closest emergency room.  Once there, they had us wait for a plastic surgeon so that the toe nail bed could be stitched together in the hopes of saving it.  The moral of the story thus far was that my pulverized toenail had actually saved my big toe bone enabling me to retain balance etc and demonstrating the purpose of a toenail.  It was a long wait.  And then a big needle right in that bloody pulp of a toe.  Fun.

I left the ER with a club style bandage on the foot and crutches that were too big.  And some pain pills that didn't cut it.  We were staying in an art deco hotel in Miami Beach which had been delightful.  Part of the charm was no elevator; just a staircase.  After finally getting back that night around midnight, I acted out the part in "The Other Side of the Mountain" where the protagonist throws down her crutches and sobs.  Because I just couldn't get up those stairs.

The next day passed in a blur of pain and sleep from pain pills that didn't really touch the pain whilst Husband watched the Westminster Dog Kennel Show.  Honeymoon officially over.

And then followed the aftermath of wound care.  The toenail slowly grew in but it was ingrown.  By June 1998, it hadn't healed yet so it was necessary to go in to a podiatrist and have the ingrown stuff killed forever.  Then a couple of years later in September 2000, another procedure to do the same. 

The status then became one nail in place that never grew so it never needed to be trimmed.  It really became kind of a hoof.  Then, it started to loosen and was pretty sensitive if bumped or hit. 

Seven years after the accident (right around our wedding anniversary), it had loosened to the point that it was painful when snagging or rubbing.  I did my own surgery and lifted it off.  It was barely hanging on.  Underneath, a new nail had started its slow journey north.  Thus, explaining the looseness of the nail. 

Same thing ensued:  one nail grew in and stayed in place.  Then, six years later, on the exact anniversary of the accident (17 February 2011), the nail tore halfway off when I hit something on a beach in Barbados.  Sitting on a beach chair, I sat down and did what I had to do:  tore the rest of it off.  This time, the nail was not as ready to come off and there was nothing much underneath.  More pain involved this time too.



BEACH ON BARBADOS
 

We were not even halfway through our cruise vacation and had more beaches (i.e. more sand) to go to.  Of course, it got infected despite the salt water baths. 

Once back home, the doctor's verdict was that the nail would no longer grow in and might form a callus thus eliminating the need to do anything else. 

But the nail did grow back into hoof status.  I don't relish the idea of being in my 80s tearing my hoofs off and dealing with infections on beaches in the Carrbbean. (Being in my 80s and in the Caribbean sounds good though.)  But I guess that is the way it will continue to be....

TOES

The most interesting part of this story is the symbolism of seven years.  The body is said to regenerate cells every seven years.  This toenail has exemplified this concept and also shown how the body can decide to do its own thing.  It's an interesting journey....