Sticking Out Like a Sore Thumb

It all started a couple weeks ago. I was washing my hands when I first started feeling uneasy. As I rubbed soap in between my palms, I noticed that something was out of place. This isn't right, I thought, as I felt around on my left hand. There was a lump there that I hadn't noticed before.

At first I thought maybe I'd hurt myself and forgotten about it. It was probably just a bump from work, I thought. I'm in construction, little injuries like that go unnoticed all the time. It was probably nothing, I kept telling myself. Not gonna lie though, I couldn't get it out of my head. Something just felt wrong about this. No, no way, I said. There's no reason to stress over a little bump.

Then I noticed another one on my right hand, in the exact same place. Don't laugh, but I freaked out. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn't. I found myself rubbing my hands together nervously any time I wasn't doing anything with them. The bumps seemed to get bigger. More noticeable.

Finally I broke down and went to a doctor, which didn't exactly make me feel better. "Are you serious?" he said. "This is nothing to worry about. It's just a part of your body, I wouldn't lose sleep over it." But I did lose sleep.

For a week straight, I'd lie in bed each night feeling my hands, trying to figure out what to do. Last night I finally couldn't handle it anymore. These bumps weren't even bumps anymore. They were growths--ugly, malignant things that needed to be removed. That's when I had my idea.

I jumped out of bed and ran down to my garage. Don't think I'm crazy, because I'm not. I was desperate, I admit that, but not crazy. I fired up my scroll saw and made a tourniquet out of an old rag I found lying around. I wouldn't let these growths haunt me any longer, making me self conscious about my hands when I went out in public, standing between me and true inner peace.

Don't think I'm crazy, but I wrapped the old piece of cloth around my left arm at the elbow, and stuck my hand into the blade. I can't even tell you what it felt like, it hurt so bad. Imagine lighting your hand on fire and crushing it in a trash compactor. Multiply that by a hundred and you get close to what I felt as the sawblade cut into my skin. Oh, and did I mention how slow it was? I pressed my hand through the saw, watching the plaguing growth slowly peel away from the rest of my flesh. It took me five minutes and every ounce of will power I had to keep pressing it, keep tearing the lumpy tumor away from my otherwise strong, healthy hands. Finally, it dropped to the floor and I passed out from the pain soon after.

This morning I woke up feeling better than I ever have. I felt new. The growth was gone, even if my left hand felt as if it would just about fall off. My job isn't over, though. I called off work for the day because I didn't want questions about the bloody guaze wrapped around my hand.

I'm about to head back down to the garage to finish what I started. Looking down at my hands, I'm still not completely satisfied. There's still the growth on my right hand, but that one will have to wait. First I have to remove the remaining four on my left.