The deep, emotional stuff

Musings on nail fungus and procrastination

It must have happened in Uganda. Or maybe in India, Rwanda or Kenya. Or even in Mexico. It must have been when sharing shoes or using communal showers. Or maybe when dancing barefoot in dirty places. God knows.

But it must have been in the year in which I worked in Uganda. I know that because my favorite pedicurist near Makerere University was the first to tell me. “You need to treat this” he said pointing at my toe nail.

I really didn’t pay attention to the advice. Not that I thought he was wrong. But really, it wasn’t a concern. It didn’t hurt, did it? Usually wearing open shoes I covered up in purple, pink, red, blue or green.

Beautiful on the outside, increasingly discoloured below the polish. Everybody had some expert advice and so over the next years periods of half-hearted creme treatments with exposure to fresh air alternated with months of covering-up. I can’t say that I didn’t try. Somehow.

When I finally consulted a doctor, the lab results were negative. You see, I took the step, but my environment just wasn’t supportive. And I was busy, too!

I was in Kenya, when the nail fell of. Coincidence? I starred at it. And now I had proof. And what I saw below didn’t look healthy. After a liver function test I was allowed to swallow tablets for 6-9 months. One daily. To stop the evil at the root. By treating the root.

4 months later 3 millimeters of progress are visible. 5 millimeters of ugly past are also still visible.

I celebrate the progress, though it makes snail pace resemble speed of light.

Healing takes time. And patience. And commitment.

Which fungus are you treating in 2014?



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