Wanting a Nail

For want of a nail, the shoe was lost.
For want of a shoe, the horse was lost.
For want of a horse, the rider was lost.
For want of a rider, the battle was lost.
For want of a battle, the kingdom was lost.
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

This “nursery rhyme” is a way for a child to learn consequences—one thing leads to another. It runs counter to the expression, “Don’t sweat the small stuff”—because small stuff counts.

Some other sayings, thanks to Benjamin Franklin in Poor Richard’s Almanac, that show small things count:

• A small leak will sink a great ship.
• Little strokes fell great oaks.
• A little neglect will bring great mischief.

Warning: Boring health stuff follows:

Speaking of small things and nails, I’m having trouble again with ingrown toenails again. I probably should have seen the podiatrist weeks ago, but I kept putting things off and developed an infection, which—thankfully—antibiotics took care of.

But the nail was still nagging at me and limiting my choice of shoes. When I visited the podiatrist yesterday, he removed a section of one toenail. The intense few seconds of pain at least yielded relief, albeit temporary. But the doc still needs to remove more. The problem: I’m allergic to novacaine. Iit works in reverse—making me more sensitive to pain. Another numbing agent causes intense itching. Consequently, I’ll have out-patient surgery—with general anesthesia—on both big toes in less than two weeks.

Before I can check into the hospital, though, I have to encounter great mischief, er, visit my family practitioner for various tests, including an EKG. Then I have to fill out a bunch of forms—including an advance medical directive—and have a PST appointment (“Pre-Surgical Teaching”) over the phone with a nurse. All for the want of a little nail care.

Now, if I’d been sensible back in my late teens and twenties—when I stupidly neglected the health of my feet by wearing high heels (pointed toes were stylish back then) and thus jamming my toes into spaces where they clearly weren’t designed to fit, I might not have this problem now.

For the want of common sense. . . .

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