The similarity of my medically treated hand to Nemo's eyes struck me last night. So I snapped away.


See the resemblence? (the bluriness helps)

Warning to the squeamish: this story is a little gross (but I guess you've already suffered through the pictures, so you might as well find out why my hand looks like a fish's eye)

After being frustrated for a few weeks by a seemingly persistent pimple (eewwww) on my left hand, I took my disturbing skin to the skin doctor, who told me that my epidermis was instead home to a wart (double ewwwww!). I was no longer going to allow this eye sore (ha. ha. that's almost a pun if you refer to the pictures again. ha.) to nest in between my first two digits, so I gave Doc the go-ahead to burn the sucker off with some liquid nitrogen.

He conveniently forgot to tell me that before it looks like it does in these pictures it would turn into this hideously large bubbly blister filled with puss (which leaked clear goo a little everyday - "blood cells and stuff," said dad). I couldn't even look at myself - sigh! I was disgusting.

I played all sorts of games with my post-wart blister, the kind you play when you stare up at the sky and attach common shapes to mishappen clouds. I joked that my bubble looked like a real fish eye. Or a boob (I'm starting to think I use that word way too much in this blog). Or the nasty results of those veneraeal diseases my mom always warned me about. Or a shark egg.

I would poke at it gently, kind of daring it to come out and play ("yes! I got some puss to ooze out! cool - hey ma, look at your defunct daughter!"). I tried to keep it covered in public - I couldn't blame people for staring, I couldn't even help but focus on it when exposed.

The blister popped on its own (with some help from a haphazardly handled towel), bled a little, and is now as it appears in the pictures. Still a little fishy-eyed. Still a little hard to not stare at. At the same time, though, it's as though my imaginary friend from grammar-school days has - poofed! - disappeared again. No more Personal Secret to giggle at under my breath ("oh my gosh I don't deserve to go out of my room - I'll horrify good, decent people!" hehehe).

I think this'll do for my Ode to Francis.

And don't even try to tell me you've never named something equal odd. We are all struggling to find ourselves in this tumultuous time after leaving four years cacooned in the relative comfort and stability of college, ok?