Yesterday I saw the hand surgeon right before I had a flight back to Florida for visit #2 with my mother-in-law. It was a follow-up office visit after my fingernail surgery. I had a black dot at the base of my fingernail near the cuticle, and it was getting bigger and blacker. The biopsy turned out good results – my fingernail bed was ‘pristine,’ the word used by the surgeon, but the fingernail was removed. It takes six months to grow back the fingernail.
He said I could do anything now – I could swim in Florida if I so choose.
“Can I plant in April and May?”
“Sure,” he said.
“Even if I wear gloves, sometimes dirt gets in.”
“No problem,” he said.
“I’ll be okay on the plane ride even if I bump into things and carry my luggage?” My third finger on my right hand is bandaged.
“No problem.” He said I could plant in Florida in a few days if I felt like it. (I’m staying in a hotel; not much opportunity for planting here.)
Today the surgeon called to tell me the pathology report came back and there was no melanoma. All is fine. “Sometimes the body just does some strange things,” he said. Do I call this All’s Well that Ends Well… or is it Much Ado about Nothing?