Hallelujah, praise the Band-Aids. Tomorrow I'm finally getting in to see a dermatologist (they apparently stay busy with Botox and acne and all kinds of other stuff, so I've had to wait a couple weeks since setting my appointment) to get Bob the Blob taken care of. By "taken care of," I mean, "hopefully removed." He has only gotten bigger, badder, and more disgusting...not to mention more painful. He is actually trying to leave my thumb on his own. Every time I remove a bandage (I change it 3 or so times a day), he separates a little more, bleeds like a stuck pig, and hurts a little more.
So yes. He's ready to go, and I'm way beyond ready to let him.
If the dermatologist tries to tell me can't do anything about Bob, the loud wailing you will hear across the country will be me. Do you know how difficult it is to play the piano--every day, for your JOB--with a bandage and gauze making your thumb twice its normal size? I'm fortunate to have very understanding choir students who just laugh with me every time there's a *clunk* and "Oops!" from the piano.
A few days ago, a colleague asked why my thumb was wrapped up. I explained the short story version of things ("I have this weird...thing...on my thumb that is apparently an overreaction by my immune system to something that irritated it a couple of months ago. It bleeds if I so much as look at it funny and it's rather disgusting, so I keep it wrapped.") and told her I'd named it Bob. As you'd expect, this resulted in a bemused smile. So, I helped her get to know Meg the Quirky a little bit better.
"I figure...if I have to walk around dealing with this nasty thing on my thumb, I may as well have a sense of humor about it, right?"
A grin spread across her face. "Absolutely!"
That's how I have to live.
Anyway, stay tuned. I'm sure there's more Bob stories tomorrow, after I see the doctor. Hopefully the story of our sordid break-up, and his subsequent moving out of my life and into the bio-waste bins.
I can't wait.