Nail in the Coffin

My toenail has been trying to emancipate itself from the second toe of my right foot for a few months now.  I have been fighting its exodus valiantly, babying the nail with scented lotions and trimming it delicately to stave off further damage.  I’ve even foregone my beloved self-painted pedicures (and thereby open-toed shoes) so I could best monitor the situation.

The bruised area was slowly regaining life, and the small part that had lifted from the nail bed was almost past the quick.  I thought my efforts would be victorious.  This weekend, sadly, a lack of good judgment led to a likely insurmountable setback.

As it was, the nail had not taken too kindly to my new shoes.  After my 20-miler, I worried that another bruise was developing lower down the nail.  This in and of itself was still a salvageable situation, but on Saturday I unwisely decided to hit a few shots on the paddle tennis court.  One wayward pivot, and my poor toenail was done for with one quick rip.  I hobbled off the court and inspected the damage.

The center of the nail has fully risen off the nail bed.  The sides are still attached, but probably won’t be for long since everything else is white and ridged.  Now begins the process of cutting away the dead nail and teasing away the parts that are still connected to the skin so the new nail underneath can grow out.  It’s sort of like a baby tooth falling away to make room for a brand new incisor, except instead of a cute, mischievous Jack O’Lantern smile, I have a gnarly toe with a crusty yellow nail on the veiny foot of a middle-aged runner.

Something tells me that sandal season is going to come really late this year.