I went to the doctor the other day because my toe was sore. Don't ask me how it got that way, it just did. And this was a problem, because it was the morning of my Halloween gig with the Receders (see My Har-moniker) and I simply had to have my toe back in working order for that night - I absolutely didn't have a choice.
However at the time, I didn't know why I was even going to the doctor because it didn't seem possible to me that just by simply going to see someone, my toe would stop hurting. I had a sore toe and he was a doctor so I should go see him, I understand that, that's what people do. But instead of just going, like normal people do, I had to sit there and over-analyze it in an attempt to try to second guess what he was going to do about it and how he could possibly make it stop hurting - and in less than 12 hours!
Most likely, I thought, he won't be able to do anything for me and will tell me I'm basically SOL until after I partake in a treatment plan that would last 2 weeks. Or maybe, perhaps, he will give me some lame topical kind of cream that will supposedly numb it for a few minutes. Or worse, maybe he will have to shoot it with some huge needle full of pain-stopper stuff!
But I was desperate - because this wasn't your ordinary "oh my toe hurts a little bit" kind of hurt, this was bad. Bad enough that I couldn't imagine how I was going to get through the night. Bad enough that yes, I would take the needle for it.
And so I went. Actually, so I made an appointment and then later that day I went. Which was bad, because now my window of treatment opportunity was seriously shortened. At 8:00 in the morning I thought I stood a chance of having an entire day's worth of treatment taking effect before my gig-time of 9 p.m. But now that my appointment wasn't until 1:00 in the afternoon, I knew it would take some kind of miracle for it to feel better in only 8 hours.
And so I arrived, and waited, and waited, and waited for an entire hour. "Oh my God, I'm down to only 7 hours of effective treatment time!" Yes, I actually said that to myself.
And then I saw the doctor, and I was not convinced. Seriously. All he did was pick up my foot and look at my toe and set my foot down and take out his pad and scribble a prescription and told me to soak it in warm water for an hour (the visit was 5 minutes tops). He said part of my toenail was a little ingrown and it was irritating my toe and was a little infected. He said soaking it would make it feel better.
No, I was not convinced. For unless I was going to be soaking it in holy water, there was no way this sucker was going to be stage-worthy by 9:00. But lacking any better solution and having no other options - I didn't seem to have much choice. And so I soaked, and soaked, and soaked - until my toes got all raisiny wrinkly like they did when you were a kid and took a bath for like 2 hours.
But here's the thing... Much to my own surprise (and lack of faith in the medical community) - it actually worked! Sure enough, by 7 p.m. I was not only walking again but I was feeling nearly no pain whatsoever!
A miracle? Probably not. But I'm going to chalk it up as one all the same!
And so I gigged, and gigged, and gigged.