You Might Have to Cut it Off!?!

Start of the trip: 10 fingers, 10 toes. End of the trip: who knows?
After some thought and some reassuring of the parent-folk I have decided to write about my ordeal over the past few weeks.  My decision has been based on two reasons,
One- It was freaky and I want people to feel bad for me :)
Two- everyone and I mean everyone loves a story of hardship, pain and tragedy. I‘m sorry to say but when given two articles to read, one of triumph and one of tragedy, most will choose to read the later.  So, I am giving you what you want, what you have been hoping for, a story of a not so lucky, random case of injury that almost, almost turned tragic- for me anyways. 
It all began on the ferry, on our trip to Dahab from Aqaba, Jordan.  I had been battling a constant and irritating bout of eczema on the middle finger of my right hand but after a painful dip in the Dead Sea, I was on the mend.  Thank you Dead Sea.  Not more than 6 hours after I uttered the words, ‘look at my finger, it’s finally getting better’ did it begin to swell.  Within 24 hours it had gone from a slight swelling on my middle knuckle to full out sausage-finger, threatening to burst.  Shit, I didn’t knock on wood when I said it looked better.  At first I thought it might be a bug bite, so I took some antihistamines, sucked up the pain and went on with my day.
Day Two- enter Doctor friend.  I call him this because he was a nice guy but a butcher of a doctor.  At first I did not know this, so I trusted him when he gave me meds for my eczema and told me that the swelling would take one week to go down.  UM- I’ll give it one day.
Day Four- after one full day of meds, and a couple dives my finger had gotten horrible.  The pain was nearly unbearable and I was living on Tylenol for mere survival.  I told Dan not to let me walk out of the office without some sort of antibiotic because in my heart I knew something was seriously wrong.  Enter Doctor friend- “you don’t have an infection, you have nitrogen bubbles trapped in your finger from diving”.  Apparently, all I needed was to go to the conveniently expensive decompression chamber and I would be cured, and it would all be covered by my insurance.  Crook.  Then I was angry.  Not only did I not have nitrogen in my blood, he was more concerned with robbing me than helping me with my problem.   So after a fight, after he lanced my finger-with no aesthetic- squeezed it so vigorously that he had me sweaty, teary and literally begging him to stop, I walked out with an anti-inflammatory.  Evil, evil, money grabbing crook.
Day Six- finally, we arrive in Cairo, and I am on my way to The Anglo American Hospital.  The pain is so terrible, that I must walk slowly so the blood doesn’t flow to my finger and create a more steady, painful throbbing.  I haven’t slept for days, the pain comes in waves that stops me in my tracks.   I meet Dr William and he is shocked.  Shocked by the treatment that I have received, shocked by the state of my finger.  He numbs my finger, peels off the scab that Dr Crook had created and squeezes.  Sorry for the image but I had to have a garbage can under my finger to catch all that was flowing out.  Squeeze, squeeze, ooze, gush…Dan almost faints.   I was left with a grotesque, painful, gaping hole in my knuckle.  Then he informed me that if I would have waited one more day, I would have lost my finger.  The hole looked so large, it was nauseating, terrifying and I was not outta the water yet.
Over the next week I would go to the doctor every day.  For freezing, squeezing, blood loss, buckets and more nausea.  After the hole was cleared of infection it became difficult to freeze.  The needle would go in, the plunger depressed, and the liquid would just gush out of the hole in my finger, dribbling uselessly into the bucket below.  I was reminded by my doctor and the head of surgery to thank my God everyday for the rapid progress I was experiencing.   Thank God I heal fast, am otherwise healthy and that I rebounded fine.  I am still on the mend, which for Dan means, he cooks and washes the dishes ;)   So,  I thank my lucky stars that I am in a place I love, that has good doctors, I have the city to keep my spirits up and that I have my hubby to change my bandages.  Bloody heck, I was scared.  I have visions of arriving home, entering the arrivals meeting area and waving to my family and friends- minus one finger.  So, fingers crossed ( cause I can do that:) ), in three days, my bandages will come off and I can work on recovering movement and flexibility.  Inshallah. (God-willing in Arabic)

Me on my second visit to the see Dr William.  The lack of general supplies is seriously shocking but there is always a generous supply of tea close buy.  No scissors, or bandages or gauze but tea…strange.  He is plastering the mitten of gauze I would have to wear for four days. *Note* if you want to make friends on the street, wrap some gauze somewhere people can see and you will get everyone and their uncle asking you what happened :)

Eeewww…Dan told me to post this picture, so I did but I kept it small.  This is after a week and a half of antibiotics and constant hospital visits.  The hole is tiny compared to what it used to be and healing perfect.

My clean bill of health:)  I am ecstatic that the infection hasn’t traveled to any of the bones in my hand.  Yipee:) I never realized how much I love my fingers.

Now for something entirely unrelated but equally as gross…..Dan with a moustache.  Yuck, but since we are talking about health, lets all remember boys, it is important to get your prostate checked.