The thumb issue persists. It is the size of a small country. As Mike Myers put it in So I Married An Axe Murderer, “that’s a virtual planetoid.” (Yeah I like quoting Mike Myers.) And it is slightly numb and a wee bit painful as well. Not to mention it looks disgusting.

So this afternoon I hauled ass to Hammersmith Hospital (a walk, one Overground, a tube another walk and a bus later) and saw the infectious disease doc. She said she didn’t think it was a bacterial infection at all but rather maybe a fungus. And had I ever been to Arizona to the desert. Really? A fungus? Arizona? I was skeptical. The nail wasn’t thick and it just didn’t seem right… and I have been to Arizona but twenty years ago. But she called in a dermatologist and they conspired to remove my nail and do a biopsy of the nail itself and some skin underneath. Ew. I swigged the last bit of my tea and put the cup down on the saucer.

I was not feeling it. In fact, I seemed to be having an out-of-body experience as I allowed myself to be led downstairs to sit among nameless patients to await this unwelcome procedure. Now look. I am not what you would call squeamish. I remind you — in February I underwent a bilateral mastectomy. And I got eight hours of sleep the night before it sans sleeping pill. I have endured a number of other procedures in my life as well, including several eye surgeries while conscious. I could go on but who has time?

Something about this just didn’t feel right. I furrowed what’s left of my brow. I waited for a few minutes. Then the fire alarm began to sound. Deafening repeated bursts of ringing. No one reacted. Not the patients. Not the staff. I looked around. Nothing. Finally someone came up and said “oh it’s just a test or the fire is in another part of the hospital.” Gee, that’s reassuring. Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t get that mentality. But that’s just me. I’m a lawyer type. Highly analytical and skeptical. I cannot help it.

Finally, after about ten minutes, the alarm ceased. I waited. And waited. I started to freak out, but quietly, inside. It was hot in there and crowded. The air was stagnant and the clock ticking. And the appointment during which I agreed to this procedure was brief. Thoughts raced through my mind. How did I get here? How could this be happening? Why am I upset by a mere fingernail when a few months ago I had them cut out all of my breast tissue? What if it isn’t necessary? Doesn’t reveal the answer? Who invented liquid soap and why? And meanwhile, how will I type? How will I blog?

Finally they called me in. The doctor explained the procedure. He would inject the base of my thumb with anaesthetic and then saw the nail in half and cut about a millimetre under it and remove it. Then he would cut out a square of flesh beneath it and send all off for biopsy. Wet and dry vials awaited their contents, ready and labeled with my name and birth date to be sent to the lab. Entranced, I arranged myself on the table. The doctor swabbed my thumb with alcohol. I mentally gritted my teeth and succumbed to my fate.

“I just want to have my colleague take a look at this,” he said. A moment later, the colleague poked her head in. “Has this patient been on taxane drugs?” She inquired. Well, yes, as a matter of fact I have. Taxol is a taxane drug and that was what I had four times as the second half of my chemotherapy.

“This is acute onycholysis. Grade IV. It is due to the taxane drug she was on. Don’t do anything. It will resolve on its own.” I stared at her. Everyone got all excited by the diagnosis. I was excited not to have my nail removed surgically even if it will fall off on its own. The new nail is apparently already growing back underneath it and the discolouration on the sides of my nail is a subungual hematoma. The numbness due to pressure on my nerves.

Photographs were taken. I smiled pleasantly as I agreed to sign a consent form to be part of a publication on the subject — anything to help someone else who presents with this nonsense in the future. “Just email me,” I said. And suddenly I was free to go.

The bad news is that because I am analytical and skeptical I am still not convinced this is the right diagnosis. But time will tell. I have been on enough antibiotics to kill a small horse and systemically I am well. So we’ll see. Lee Press-On Nails, here I come.

I stand armed with two publications on the topic which I will hand over to the oncologists. If the diagnosis is correct, surely persons taking this drug should be checked for such a condition and it should be recognised when it presents itself.

Boy oh boy. Killing it has had more than its share of weird side effects, hmm? I sure hope that the colleague dermatologist nailed it.