Several years ago I developed an unusual medical condition that stumped my doctor and both interested and frightened me. One morning I discovered a growth on the index finger of my left hand. It first appeared to be a long splinter the length of the finger next to the thumb. Unlike a splinter, it seemed articulated and bent when my finger bent. I was fascinated but also knew I needed to show it to my doctor. I couldn’t get an appointment that first day but set one for the next. Overnight the splinter-like protrusion expanded a little bit beyond the finger, and looked like a kind of lobe, like a smaller finger attached to the index finger.
Many things went through my mind on the bus ride to Dr. Pierce’s office. Was this some kind of exotic infection from Africa? I had any number of African friends. Was it from the high Himalayas, the original home of my friend Ming? Or China where my friends Rong and Fong originated? Or Korea from which Chong immigrated? I decided not to worry and just kept my hand on my lap covered by my other rather normal appearing right hand. But I did worry. Would I ever again play the piano? Could one even play with six fingers? Would I have to give up my massage practice? I’d already cancelled half a dozen massages. Would I still be able to shuffle a deck of cards?
At the doctor’s office I watched as my physician examined the oddity. He said it was not a splinter but rather a buildup of fluid and proposed to extract some of it for further examination. Out came the needle. Into the finger it reached. Out came dark red blood. Doctor looked concerned and marked the sample for the lab to examine STAT. He asked me to wait and showed me to an empty room. I wondered what he’d find. I had wanted to excise the dark line that invited ideas of demon possession, an idea I had long excised from my mind. Couldn’t I simply cut it off like I once did a mole? I examined myself. I thought about the many projects I was planning. I made a list of friends to call, especially those I had lost track of over the previous couple of years. I checked my phone messages, listening to all those I’d not heard, erasing many, many voice and text messages, and otherwise filled my time with distracting tasks. After about an hour, a nurse brought me a bottle of water and some magazines apologizing for the long inconvenience. My one hour wait turned into two hours. Finally Dr. Pierce returned. He told me I would have to enter the hospital. My heart rate rose. “We need to keep watch over this.” He frowned; I wondered why. “The CDC wants you isolated,” he explained for their computers had matched the sample with something dreadful. My fears shook me.
I entered a world of sterile isolation. There all was bed rest, confusion, and fear. The staff members were nice to me yet cautious and also afraid. I was also amazed for when in my long life had anything I had ever done become of national concern? Finally I awoke from the dream that morning, December 29, 2010.
Morning Pages entry from 12-29-2010
Woke up from a dream in which I discovered a growth on my index finger. It looked like a long splinter the length of the finger but protruded a little bit beyond in a separate lobe as if the whole thing were growing alongside my finger. I used it as an illustration that, like this splinter, most folk in the room (were they UUs?) would like to excise the mythological elements from their minds. I wondered if it really was a splinter and thought I’d like to find out. The stuff that came out was liquid like pussy blood. The CDC said to contain the liquid and get it to a hospital for examination. The medics were to isolate me because their computers had matched it with something dreadful. Sterile concerns all along towards the end of the dream. Keep samples sterile, etc. keep the fluid isolated. Isolate me, too.
© Denver 2014
About the Author
He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot.com
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