Tragedy Of The Common Foot
Oh, sorry. For those non-medical types out there, onychomycosis is a big word for “nail fungal infection” (and just in case any attractive Jewish females are interested in learning more big medical words, let me know and we’ll set up a…uhh…private tutoring session – admit it, you missed these shameless attempts, didn’t you?). Much like the Macarena, any and every cast member in the history of The Real World, and Ryan Seacrest, nail fungus is contaminating every ounce of self-respect and/or nails of the Earth’s inhabitants, a horribly disfiguring sight to behold that simply refuses to die. People are coming from near and far to have their feet examined by doctors, hoping that the medical establishment can provide a lasting panacea for this ailment.
Actually, let me rephrase that last sentence: People are coming from near and far to have their feet examined by doctors, who themselves are so utterly bored and disinterested with looking at nail fungus that every case of nail fungus gets dumped onto the lap of a hapless medical student (that’s code for “me”) for inspection, palpation, smell, taste, and management. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, over the last few weeks spent working in various outpatient clinics, I have been blinded by hundreds of hygiene-oppressed nails, drowned in a sea of green nastiness, submerged in a swamp of crunchy fungal nail chips.
There is a bigger problem, however, with this disease and the people who keep bothering me about it. Before I explain, please understand that nail fungus has caused me more grief, anxiety, nightmares involving the Jolly Green Giant (who force-feeds me his jolly green infested toenails, in case you're curious), and flashbacks of losing to the most notorious fungus there is, Toad, time and time again (damn you, Patty, and your exquisite video game skills!). The fundamental problem, ladies and gentlemen, is this:
WE CAN’T DO A DAMN THING ABOUT YOUR NAIL FUNGUS, SO PLEASE JUST LEAVE US ALONE.
Seriously, if I see another chief complaint of "nail fungus" I'm going to lose whatever is left of my mind.
Surely, you’re thinking “But I have nail fungus and my doctor gave me stuff for it, so this moron must be lying and stupid and a poo-poo head, not to mention a total insensitive arrogant prick who-“. OK, I get it. Sure, maybe your doctor gave you a cream to apply to the fungus. Did he or she mention that you need to put the cream on every day for about six months for it to have the slightest chance of working? That most of the time it doesn’t work anyways? That the average patient can’t remain compliant on anything for more than a few weeks, so asking someone to apply cream to one’s hideously deformed toes for months at a time has about as much chance of happening as Natalie Portman expressing her passionate love for me via a fan e-mail?
“Wait, I thought there was some pill I could take?” Yes, there is. Except that pill might also do a really nasty number on your liver, and since there’s a pretty solid chance that you’re a raging drunk hepatitis-infected diabetic with assorted personal hygiene and aging issues only Anna Nicole Smith could love, we can’t give you this medication (which, I should add, you’d also have to take for a long time) without risking serious damage to your liver and our pocketbooks when your liver fails and you sue every last penny from our debt-ridden pockets.
In other words, please, I implore you, rethink your decision about going to your doctor for an evaluation of the majestic floral tapestry growing on your toenails. Think of the poor medical student, left to combat this raging epidemic, frightened, horrified, and sadly alone in his or her fight. Think of the nightmares, the stress, the tragedy of it all.
And, lastly, think of this guy*. OK, that has nothing to do with anything, but I saw his site and couldn’t resist plugging it.
*No, that’s not me. Asshole.