Welcome back my friends to the thumb tale that never ends..
Last night I banged my infected thumb on the bath tub fawcet, the very sharpish metal edge and manage to tear open the infected bit. This morning I was worse again. Another doctor visit, another antibiotic and another bottle of narcotics for the pain, which is excruciating again.
Since the bandages have come off I've been sporting a white cotton glove on my right hand. Actually it's mostly white with a few decorative tracery bits in the shape of medallions in very pale blue.
The glove serves to cover the oozing nasty bit that will likely bear a scar and mostly keeps me from grossing out random strangers when I do manage to go out in public.
One thing I have learned in all of this is that our hands must really be filthy. I'm washing the uninjured one like some sort of jacked up OCD patient on uppers. Why? The glove gets dirty in one big hurry, grey smudges of dirt on the pads of the fingers. Is life really that dirty? No wonder I picked up an infection.
Makes me harken back to my childhood and the wearing of white cotton gloves to go to Mass. The gloves, a hat and a pretty dress - standard issue uniform of good little Catholic girls from about the mid 1960s going way way back.
I don't remember my gloves getting as dirty as these are, and I surely do not remember feeling so restricted and constricted by wearing gloves. I do remember feeling like I was la-de-da fancy.
It is really almost comical how far dress and fashion has come in such a short period of time. In those long ago days of white gloves women also wore slips under those dresses. I'm not even sure that slips are still available in the stores.
Since I've been sick I've been living in that clothing item that makes fundamentalists foam at the mouth - yoga pants. Yoga pants and white gloves. I cannot zip and unzip regular pants at all right now.