Things were never the same after the long weekend at Cabinas Ramirez—the $8 a night shacks on the shores of Manuel Antonio. Still the most tranquil cove I’ve swum in, but there was something just not right in the monkey swamp we crossed in reef sandals and cut-offs. A few weeks later I finally went to the student clinic at the University of Costa Rica to have someone look at the scaly, blotchy entity that had grown over a toe and the side of my right foot and was starting to inch up the outer calf. I didn’t think much of it: healthcare is free and direct in the country, even for foreign exchange students, and whatever pastillas they gave me more or less did the trick. With an exception… three toenails were never the same again.
That was 14 years ago, and ever since I’ve more or less ignored the situation. When toe-gazing became something I did intently, in a “self-studying” mood, for hours each day, I was practicing at Yogaworks—where some ashtanginis sport manipedis, get bodywork for every tweak, hail adjustments, apply essential oil before class, and wear very cute expensive clothing. At the time, I saw these as strategies for avoiding the body as it is.
So it seemed important to be overtly unfashionable there. (Of all the places my aesthetic resistance, borne of Pacific Northwest indie rock and dubitable thrift store fashion sense, would not be understood.) Anyway, in addition to resurrecting my gym clothing from junior high (my mom never throws anything out), part of me, in that setting, began to appreciate those old long-decayed toenails. I cut them to the would-be quick and just acted like they were as precious as any pedicure.
But after a few years in that scene I left. Because even though the physical instruction there was very helpful, the obsession with form started to feel not just distracting but self-punishing. I just needed a place I could tap some deeper mental states and learn about loving community. Loosening up to that kind of supported practice generated a lighter attitude to having a body, and among other things I started painting my toenails pale pink—and later bright red—on Saturday nights.
Underneath the polish, the fungus grew like, well, fungus. I didn’t really notice until a couple of months ago when someone lovingly called my pedicures “patriarchal” and I stripped it all off in curiosity. Oh, holy! There was the warped and mushy, not unscented, yellow decay of nastiness.
I felt a kind of pride that my organism could generate something so putrid all by itself, and thought of calling people who have asked me to pose for yoga pictures to say I was available for some FBH shots. I thought of the yogis in the charnel grounds, meditating on decay, and realized that the fungus was actually a resilient life form that I might contemplate in awe. Surely a tool for realization.
Ummm. That got me about a week before committed inquisition and purgation set in.
What are you, vile creature; and who gives you the right to squat on my feet?
For the first time, I looked online to see what the rest of the world is doing about these things. And wow. There are a lot of crazy methods out there.
It turns out that there are several varieties of toenail fungus: I suppose whatever I had was relatively savage, given its origin and longevity, so maybe what works to kill it would be easily effective for domestic varieties. Hard to say.
On the internet, there are people who recommend immersing the affected member in a solution of hydrogen peroxide and bleach. Then follow up by covering everything in vaseline. Great formula for a chemical burn there. Said burn is guaranteed to make previously fungal toenails look healthy by comparison, but can’t be good for the bloodstream or one’s organism in general. Too painful.
There’s also a lot of discussion online about prescription and over the counter drugs taken by mouth. Sounds like a great way to use the digestive system to screw the liver while only distally accessing the ends of the toes. Too inefficient, not to mention expensive.
But then there are some more benign home remedies: I started experimenting and settled on a hybrid approach. It’s just my folk concoction of DIY, OTC and the placebo effect, but, weirdly, it works.
It’s a four-fold method. First, before I started, I filed the whole sorry fungified nails clear off, everything, and scrubbed the whole sorry mess in Dr. Bronner’s. That made everything even uglier, but seemed obviously helpful. In subsequent weeks, if any toenail appeared that was not fresh, tender and baby-pink, I hit it again with the emery board and the Bronner’s.
Second, I picked up some tea tree oil for a couple of dollars at Trader Joes. After practice and after work, I use a Q-Tip to cover all three nails with the stuff. I do wonder if I smell of that barky antiseptic now everywhere I go, but on the rare occasion it gets too pungent for me I just cover it with a little Scent of Samadhi—the pricey perfume powder distilled from the urin of cave saddhus. (You think I’m kidding about that, but Scent of Samadhi is actually a New Age favorite around here, and I quite like it. Those saddhus probably drank their pee several times over before making it in to perfume. I can only hope that my own waste materials will one day be so sublime.)
Third, something weird. At night I lay a little Vic’s Vapo Rub (who knew it still existed?) right in to the nail bed and cover it with band-aids until morning.
Fourth, naturally, is the woo-woo component. I don’t know. Any attitude might work here. Personally, I just put some happy affection on the new little toenails. I do not envision them being fully grown and perfect; and I don’t think bad thoughts at the old fungus. I just sort of tell the new little growths that they are very sweet and adorable and welcome. Kind of how I would talk to kittens. Only, I do this silently in my head right before practice. And, ok, sometimes also at night.
I thought about growing new toenails quasi-scientifically, but there was the problem of having four treatments and only three toes. Also I didn’t have the patience to leave one of the three as a control-toe and work out the other treatments one by one. Furthermore, how does one administer the woo-woo treatment to one toe while ensuring others are not affected? Woo-woo is messy. Not good science.
Bottom line: toenail fungus did not help me stick it to the man when I practiced at Yogaworks. Nope. Not an effective political statement. Also: having a body is gross. And yet, happily, toenails do not have to look like death. At least not for now.
27 Comments
I thought this was the funniest thing I’ve ever read:
“I felt a kind of pride that my organism could generate something so putrid all by itself”
until I read this:
“I thought about growing new toenails quasi-scientifically, but there was the problem of having four treatments and only three toes. Also I didn’t have the patience to leave one of the three as a control-toe…”
Research design jokes are the funniest thing ever.
why don’t you get help from a doctor? this sounds very serious to me. what happens if it spreads or affects someone else-who might use a mat after you did or a shower?
*essential oils before class? certainly i would be practicing at home after knowing that.
Karen.
Yes, I suppose that is a legitimate question since you don’t know me. I talked to two dermatologists and a GP when I started practicing. Not an issue for shalatics, as would be something like plantar’s warts. Only western-curable through harsh prescription, which they agreed wasn’t worth the liver damage. Basicall, just one of the many gross aspects of everyday embodiment.
I freakin’ love Scent of Samadhi. And your toes looked fine to me, lol.
Nice! Perhaps the sense of my own disgustingness in this area is magnified by my foot fetish.
Honestly, I’d wear Scent of Samadhi every day if it weren’t so suspiciously woo-woo. How can a scent be woo-woo? Saddhu urin.
my mutated pinky toe-nail bows to the light in your fungus-flavored one!
Wow, I met you and never got to see this fungus! This was interesting because (apart from making me laugh) it made me think about my bent finger.. not disgusting, just not right at all, and staring me in the face day after day. I have a strange relationship of frustration and fondness with it. The fondness I guess comes from trying to embrace my own many imperfections, of which this is just a glaring and constant physical reminder…
i wuv yur foots
this is hilarious. Crusty yoginis are sexy.
And now I’m inspired to write a whole post about the weird dry fungus-y patches that pop up if I wear my sports bra for too long after practicing.
EOR!!!! And Susan… thank you for speaking up for my toes. Now that they are kind of baby-pink I can’t bring myself to return to the patriarchal pedicure… but maybe…
Fungus flavor… see? GROSS!!!
I just sponged off my mat in the same tea tree oil I use for the toes. Just for good measure. They should make a liquid version of Scent of Samadhi for that purpose….
Have a beautiful weekend, all! Off to dance…
Oh Liz2, yes! I celebrate crustiness.
Oh, MW wrote something again. Haven’t read it, but probably v good.
Hilarious. I had a pinkie toenail fall off once so I just painted on a fake one! I also have a toe that’s mysteriously veering off to one side at nearly a 45 degree angle. WTF. This just happened. Old age, I guess. Pretty soon all my joints will be splaying out at odd angles.
I’m so curious about this Saddhu pee! Do they make scented candles too?
My father spent too long in the army. Marches, special forces training, yada yada. So he cuts his toenails when then bother him. He takes a scissors and cuts them down the sides, perpendicular to the nail bed, all the way to the bottom, then just rips them out from the nail bed.
Nowadays, he’s forbidden from doing this. He eventually couldn’t do it “properly” anymore and had to go to a podologue (is that the word in English?, you know, foot guy). The receptionist calls him “bubbles” after an unfortunate incident with the foot bath in the waiting room a few months back.
All of this to say, he managed to give that under the toe nail fungus to myself, and now my wife caught it from our nail clippers, too. It’s impossible to eradicate. La Steph has almost got hers under control, but I’m in a sad state. Whatever you do, don’t underestimate it. And this isn’t your body, this is an alien invader we’re talking about. It must die, forget all of this good karma and think survival of the fittest before this pseudo-mushrooms win! Get the topical antibiotics and go wild. There’s also a more modern oral antibiotic that’s prescribed even in antiquated England now, it’s much easier on the stomach and the liver and is only a daily dose. May have to switch to that myself if the topical antibiotics don’t do the trick on my end.
Damn my father and that crazy jungle combat training that they gave him! Didn’t they realise that this kind of warfare would have horrible consequences not only on the people who took part, but for future generations!
Bon courage !
Scented candles coming any day, Liz. And WOW, I just found out about the latest all new yoga consumption item, the Shakti Mat. Best/worst product EVER! See this month’s Yoga Journal.
CIJ, I am so happy you have de-lurked, and highly disturbed by the story you tell. (In English, the word is podiatrist, but I prefer podologue.) Your father’s experience and self-treatment are exceedingly disgusting (congratulations); and I can’t believe you and La Steph have been punished as well. Horrible!
I will indeed redouble my efforts, shift to more of a take-no-prisoners approach (would fuck you, fungus be too intense?), and at least ask my Doc about this (also disgusting) topical antibiotic method.
Here’s the exact result using my current four-pronged approach. One toenail fully recovered and looking just charming. One 3/4 of the way there. These are the two big toes. But the middle toe on my right foot is halfway resisting. I was wondering if it felt overshadowed by the attention I was giving to the big toes and thus wasn’t responding to the woo-woo aspect of treatment. But maybe, as you say, this is a mean creature that’s squatting on my feet and in response I should get meaner. Not nicer. (Extends owl fangs.)
Speaking of squatting and fangs, check this out. I just rolled in to Westwood, CA, where lots of movies premiere. There is a 4-block long encampment of pathetic-looking humans winding through the neighborhood. Since everyone looks exhausted and scrappy and passionately committed to whatever they are doing here all over the sidewalks, I thought it was a big protest against homelessness (a situation that has increased greatly in Santa Monica this year). But no. It’s that some movie called “New Moon†(I had never heard of it) premieres tomorrow night and these people (700 of them) are dead set on getting seats. Some of them have been sleeping on the street here here since Thursday! GAWD!!! If some B Movie can mobilize this much weird, impractical sacrifice, you’d think we could get our shit together and end homelessness. Not to mention minor toenail-parasitism.
What the hell was in that water in the first place??? Damn!
Cut them off (the afflicted toes), thread them on a loop of hemp yarn and wear them around your neck. Worked for me – a bit of a weepy scene and I was certified straightaway!
Not like you to blanch at a bit of physical discomfort in the name of thrift…
Wait… you had never heard of New Moon? And you live in Los Angeles? And you have students younger than 30? The marketing machine has indeed broken down.
I suppose you’ll be bundling your feet in pack boots during the MI wintertime, so airy footwear won’t be a viable option. I’ve held to the notion that diet is usually the best cure for fungi and freaky little issues like that. Really, you are what you eat, and the fungus established itself and flourished upon all that nourishment/chemistry that you made yourself from. But I couldn’t suggest a specific dietary fix — it’s all just superstition until whatever info Google excavates for us can be proven by experience.
I wonder about that water too, Boo. K, I seriously didn’t know anything about the film. I might be a cretin, though. The last three shows I saw were stage plays.
Carl, short of shearing off the digits, I thought about switching to a diet of only tea tree oil and kale. I’m thinking about it. These little fungi have survived on a lot of different diets the past 15 years, including the phase when I de-toxed everything after a yearlong spate of tapeworm (yes), giardia and various aomebas. I am sure I killed off every last bit of my intestinal flora in that little experiment, but there was no effect on the toes.
It occurs to me that the 90-year-old old lady down the street, Dona Carolina, had tapeworm just before I did back then. I took antibiotics to kill mine, but do you know what she did? Starved it, stalked it, mercilessly drew it out of her body. She didn’t believe in antibiotics any more than she could afford them.
Having fasted for three days, she sat down at her tiny table in her tiny, dark kitchen, and put her chin down, open-mouthed, before a bowl of warm milk. She felt the creature stir, then slither very slowly up out of her belly to the throat. When it reached the air, Dona Carolina grasped it and slowly, gently drew the creature out. Dropped it in the milk for one glorious moment, then threw the whole mess out in to the street of hardpacked dirt. Dona was a radical feminist and crazy Sandinista nationalist—her niece would come over and show off her bullet wounds—but she became a hero again for that.
Sort of related: Hindu hero scriptures for the frozen north:
BHAGAVAD GOALIE.
Oh but you should read the books (Twilight saga). They are incredibly trashy and really enjoyable.
that must have been some bangin’ milk. the tapeworms and lakshmi both took a bath; the remedy and the malady. shinzen on: “love like a faucet”—-
Salvadoran chicks must be seriously badass.
Seriously? Twlight? I mean, I did kind of enjoy (in a disgusting way) Dan Brown’s books….
Dona Carolina was definitely of the take-no-prisoners disposition, though at least the tapeworm’s penultimate moment was a good one. She might kick Carl’s ass for calling her a chick, despite his protestations that, as a bird lover, he means it as the highest expression of endearment.
Seriously. My name is V, I enjoyed Twilight, and I make no apologies for it
I read them all too. In like a month. Really fast. Couldn’t get enough. The first movie was dumb. I expect the second one to be also.