27 March 2012

One Small Step

Back in October I took a ‘Look Good Feel Good’ class at Mount Sinai Hotel & Spa. Two pieces of advise stood out. 

Firstly, if you’re wearing a cheap wig, don’t stick your head in the oven. Secondly, be persistent with mascara. Even without eyelashes, there may be some tiny baby hairs to which the mascara could stick.

So I’ve kept it up, and have worn mascara all winter. Usually it ends up smudged on my eyelid, with more little bits on my face, making me look as though I’d just rolled out of bed with a hangover. But I liked putting it on 'cus it made me feel like a girl.

Well this morning I brandished the magic wand, and lo and behold. I have an eyelash, and the mascara stuck to it!

One small step for a lady, one giant step for an egghead!

25 March 2012

Dr. Tiny Hands

Dr Escargot and I met last week to follow up my recent surgery. I thought it was all about me, but judging by the look on his face, I think he likes to admire his handy-work. He smiled and nodded, and the glint in his eye said, ‘Job well done, everybody.’

Dr Escargot (Left), Me (Right)
He’s a lovely man and I trust him completely. While I slept (with the aid of Bellaruth and my anesthesiologist) he has twice looked around and cleaned me up. I couldn’t imagine not trusting my surgeon. It has occurred to me many times that this man, literally, has my life in his hands. But what I didn’t realize until last week was that his hands are so teeny!

After my examination, he asked if there was anything else I’d like to talk about. Since he asked, I mentioned a purple finger that had recently been concerning me. My middle finger had been quite swollen, and a startling shade of purple. It had since returned (almost) to normal, but I’d thought I’d bring it up.  He wasn’t terribly worried. But he did say that he had a purple finger as well.

‘Look,’ he said, putting his hand beside mine. My first reaction was to say, ‘My God you’re hands are small!’ though I knew that wasn’t the point of this show ‘n tell. But I was less concerned with his tiny purple fingernail than I was with the fact that he had the hands of an eight-year-old girl. They were certainly smaller than mine. ‘How did that happen,’ I asked. And what I really meant was, ‘How did a grown man get hands that little?’

After he left the room I discussed this with Jim. He said that Escargot was blessed with delicate digits, so he could maneuver his way around veins and arteries. But what else could he do? I doubt he could lift a hammer, hand brakes on bicycles would be a challenge, and he may or may not be able to grip the steering wheel of a car. A pencil would be fine.

His hands were also very soft, and looked a little squishy. Characters from Sesame Street popped in my head, and I pictured the muppets and their soft, clumsy mitts.  Bert, I think, had the smallest hands of all – which explained why it was Ernie who got to hold the rubber ducky.

But Jim was right. The tiny hands are an advantage for a surgeon in need of fine motor skills. And it made him more cuddly, and less intimidating. And I do have to hand it to him. He did one heck of a good job.