I haven’t got time for the pain mockers...

A couple of months ago, after a long silence, I posted a new blog for those of you who are starved for entertainment. It had been over a year and I had enough people nudge me into a new post that I thought I should make time to create a new blog again from time to time.

I’ve had a busy couple of months since then. I had the pleasure of performing with some very talented people in “Broadway Meets Lake Benton” at the Opera House back in March. The following day set building and rehearsals began for “Charlie Cox Runs With Scissors.” It has been fun directing a quality group of actors/friends, and despite the obstacles Mother Nature is throwing at us this week while attempting to rehearse, we will open Friday night at 7:30 with a wonderful comedy production. Please come if you can.

Oh yeah, and I started playing with a band again, when I agreed to play bass for the County 7 band.

Throw in the 2013 version of Wilmes Family Board Game Weekend last weekend, and I’ve had trouble finding time to post a follow-up to “Thumbing My Nose at the Pain,” the blog in which I shared the trials of a computer addict getting through the trauma of a paper cut…on the end of my thumb…in mid-winter.

I would like to thank many of you for your support. Here is a sampling of the comments from some of my true friends:

- From regular reader Shirley: Dear Brave Mark, You really “nailed” the source of your pain. I have to “hand” it to you. I definitely give you a “thumbs” up. Continue to be brave. This sojourn will soon be but a distant memory. I certainly won’t “thumb” my nose at you if you, oh I don’t know, won’t be able to do snow removal because of this tragedy. But I do have to comment that you are such a “cut” up. Wishing you well. And for Heaven’s sake, don’t touch them thar insurance papers. They’re out to get ya.
 

- From Ann: Put Super Glue on it - it will heal right up, it takes the pain away, and you can use it...  No really - I'm serious.  Try it. Works every time.

- From a nice reader out in Pierre, SD: "Loved reading this. I carry a little disc of meleluca paste in my purse and have several more around the house. It is great for cuts, burns, sores or anything like that. Takes the soreness out and heals over night. I gave one to the gal who owns the quilt store in Pierre for when she gets a pin prick. The other day I was there and she was using it on a cold sore on her lip, She said it worked great for that. If you know anyone who sells melalueca just have them order you some. There is gel in a tube but the paste works better I think."

 

- From Jeff in Northfield: "Aquifer" or "Triple Paste" will clear up your paper-cut. Be careful...cuts like that would've killed a pioneer....those things hurt like no other. Childbirth? I doubt it comes close, and I'm serious. A & D ointment will also make it feel better, but that Triple Paste really does heal 'er up. (it's mostly for diaper rash, but man it heals up the cuts, too). Just have the ladies try, TRY to hold a guitar pick (with a paper cut on the thumb)! Can't do it!

Then there was George in Tyler, who seemed to be mocking me. You decide:

- I don't believe I have ever been brought to tears by an email before. The pain, the agony, why didn't you call for support? …I will start immediately searching for the perfect get well card to guide you back to norms of healthiness. As I wipe my eyes again, get well soon.

George, however, at least had the common courtesy to thinly veil his lack of sympathy.

There were more than a few women making snarky comments. One of the more stinging communications came from Nicole in Minneapolis, who sent me the “definition” of Man Flu: An illness that causes the male of the species to be helpless and sicker than any other family member. In females; a cold.

If I were a cynic, I would have been thinking that she was implying I was overstating the severity of my injury.

Then I was subjected to this bit of fiction from Angie, one of Nicole’s equally unsympathetic friends (click the link to see the latest in female propaganda):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=VbmbMSrsZVQ

Obviously conceived of and filmed by a female with an active imagination.

Of course, what makes these things funny is that it is so ridiculous to think that us hunter/gatherers could be so whiny.

We’re tough…we can handle a little misguided ribbing in the name of humor.

That being said, I have to go now. I’m going to see if Triple Paste works on hangnails… Those puppies are nasty.

Thumbing my nose at the pain

I’m writing this in a great deal of pain. It’s not just any pain, nay, but a pain that has nearly brought me to my knees many times over the past week. Yet, somehow I have gathered the strength and courage to trudge on. I have made quite an impression on myself with this bravery I exude. And let me tell you, I’m not easily impressed.

I know some of you out there can relate to my dilemma. You understand the sting. The throbbing. The inevitable and uncontrollable wince I experience every time I hit the space bar. I sense a knowing nod from the previously afflicted. The tell-tale signs of someone suffering through a desk jockey’s worst nightmare…

The searing anguish of a nasty paper cut.

On the end of my thumb.

In mid-winter.

The deepest I’ve seen. Ever.

A genuine gaping, yawning assault on my sensory receptors.

A glaring, obnoxious salt magnet.

Oh sure, I’ve heard the horror stories about nail gun accidents and table saw miscues and small radiation mishaps. There will be the haters out there who scoff at my misfortune, but I’ve spent enough time on Facebook in recent years to know that I have been needlessly suppressing any blatant sharing of my personal drama. I’ve seen some of the stuff that elicits an “fml” post on the social media site. My predicament has them beat in spades.

It all started after a 60-minute stint at the oral surgeon last Tuesday. After having my mouth ravaged with multiple extractions and a giant plastic hayrack inserted over a half score of stitches, I was fulfilling my follow-up oral check-up the next day. Little did I know that before I left home, I had inadvertently severed my epidermal layer on the latest insurance statement. (There is truly no end to the amount of pain Aetna inflicts upon me.)

After my official okie dokie from Dr. John, I went to the coat rack to retrieve my beige jacket. (Yeah, I know…it was free from my employer. They don’t care how I look in beige.) My eye was drawn to the copious amounts of blood splattered down the back of the jacket and surrounding right front pocket. After a startled half-beat, I deduced that the grisly stains probably were my own bodily fluids.

It could only be two things. After quickly eliminating “slashed jugular,” I spied the splayed abyss winking at me from the only opposable digit I have on my right hand. My heart sank as the realization came into focus of how my life would be altered over the next half month.

Worst paper cut ever.

I shudder to think of the murky pool that must have been left behind under the dentist chair.

I am a chronic right-hander. I’m the most right-handed person I have ever known. My left hand is so stupid it can barely operate a glass of water. The hurdles I cleared over the next few days were ridiculous, and would have felled a lesser man.

Washing dishes became a lesson in endurance. Every time I unconsciously licked my thumb to turn a newspaper page, or operated the storm door handle, or opened the cap on a bottle of shampoo, Kathy would hear a staccato “ohwhwww” in the distance. Do you know how hard it is to peel those stupid Curad bandages from the paper backing with one hand? Trust me, go with Band-Aid brand.

Hitchhiking became intolerable.

I haven’t even been able to signal my spouse from the couch whether or not I liked a movie.

But please, I ask that nobody makes a fuss over me. This too shall pass. The last couple of days have brought marked improvement. It has progressed to the point where I can barely feel my heartbeat in the troublesome crevice. And good things have come from this. I can now pet my kitty left-handed, although she still seems a bit disoriented from the modification.

Yesterday I used the proper hand signal from across the room to tell a co-worker he was doing a good job.

I’ve learned who my true friends are…it’s astonishing how few people will help a guy out with his fly in a time of need. (Note to self: take “no” for an answer the first time. Chasing them with a second request usually ends up involving local authorities.)

You know the old saying: “what doesn’t kill you…”

I’ll be fine, everyone. Cards and gifts are certainly not required. Thanks for kind thoughts and words, but if I can help just one office worker somewhere in the world, then baring my inner soul with tales of my epic voyage will have been worth it.

It only takes a minute to slip on a pair of nitrile safety gloves, people.

Believe me, you never miss the ability to simultaneously eat a hoagie and flip through channels until it has been taken from you.