Badmotorfinger

Before I embarked on the Van of Constant Sorrow Tour, I thought I noticed some slight bruising about halfway down (or up?) my left middle finger. I was left scratching my head trying to figure out when I might have absent-mindedly injured myself. I do plenty of yard and house stuff where I'm not really thinking things through, and it's quite possible it happened raking or tossing rocks or pulling on something too hard. Mebbe it occurred while riding, a total heat of the moment kinda thing. Coulda been trying to pop the top off a beer bottle while holding a bag of chips in my teeth and a TV remote in my arm pit.

Who knows?

Anyways, I'd been ignoring the discomfort assuming like most of my physical ailments, it will solve itself.

On the final push back from Knoxville, I felt a lump at the base of my middle finger. Bigger than a raisin, more like a sliced section of grape. Huh. On top of all the anxiety we had both been receiving in the last twenty four hours VIA texts and all the other manners the real world uses to creep into our pleasure times, I now have this to fixate on until I get back to my real life issues.

Being an "old," I'm a collection of bumps, scars, aches, blurry vision, and limited mobility. Whenever something new pops up, I tend to assume the worst.

Cancer, AIDS, stroke, heart attack, diabeetus, complete organ failure... you know. The usual stuff.

So I tell Watts that I think I have finger cancer.

Given that knowledge, I do what I think is best. I ignore it, at least for now.

Back at work the next day, I have time to google my symptoms in an attempt to assuage my finger cancer related sadness or perhaps push me into finally writing my last will and testament.

Retinacular flexor sheath ganglion cyst... sounds about right.

Obviously, I look at potential treatment options.

1. Ignore it and hope it goes away.  Sounds tempting.

2. Surgery... ewwww.  Google image search that... wait, put down your hoagies and fries and then google it. I think I'd just go all Four Rooms on it myself.

There's a third option that's terribly old school.

3. Find a big book. Remember books? Anyways, something heavy that's probably collecting dust... like a Bible. Get a friend, give him the Bible, put your hand on a table (cyst upwards), and then let your friend slam the Bible down as hard as he can on the cyst. If it pops, you win. If it doesn't you can go back and re-examine your options, 1, 2, and 3 (again).

The stupid little lump was the source of some pain and irritation. I had to be careful about how I opened doors, got dressed, rode my bike... basically just about anything I needed to do with my left hand. It was getting inconvenient, but honestly, after several days, muscle memory had formed a solid grasp of the situation (grasp... har har). I was grabbing and holding things in an entirely different manner, and it was solid buenos.

Then this past Saturday, I decided to go riding. I'd learned how to kinda keep the lump from being under pressure on the grip, but just as I might sometimes forget my that work bike doesn't coast after a week away from the job, I'd forgot about my lump for a split second. I pulled up on the bars to pop over something in the parking lot, and...

Stars. Bright lights. Instant pain and then a sense of relief.

I followed my friends into the woods, but the first time we popped outta the trail I hollered out, "Hey, I need to check something stupid."

Stop, take my gloves off, palpate the offensive digit with my right hand.

The lump. It's gone. Just like that. Fortunately, I was riding with Dr Mike at the time.

"Oh yeah. Ganglion cysts. They can do that."

So here I am, pain free and hoping that's the last of that, although recurrence can be an issue. Keeping that in mind, I'm on the lookout for a used Bible or encyclopedia or phone book... or I'll just rely on my shitty wheelie form to do the trick again.

Pretty sure there's absolutely no moral to this story.