This One Gets Two Thumbs Up
A Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster
I woke up in the middle of the night with a sore thumb.
I know, I know, with all the troubles in this world, all the grief and sorrow around us, all the financial woes besetting dozens of countries after Donald went nuts with his tariffs, no one has time to worry about my stupid thumb. A sore thumb is one of those in-between ailments. It’s not serious enough to call 911 or an ambulance to take you to emergency; and if I did go there you can imagine how far down the priority list some jerk with a sore thumb is going to be placed. “Take a seat out on the lawn, Mr. Foster, and if we remember, we’ll call you, not today necessarily, but sometime in the distant future.”
I certainly couldn’t call my doctor. I can hear her now, “Take two aspirins, stick your thumb up your bum, and call the office in the morning.”
As a matter of fact, my thumb stopped hurting almost immediately after I woke up, but it did start me thinking about what I could do if it didn’t and kept throbbing away for hours, maybe even days. I have a very low tolerance for pain. When the doctor slapped me when I was born I cried so loud, the doctor whacked me again.
What can a doctor do with my sore thumb anyway? A surgeon just can’t lop it off. If it was my right one, my chances of a pitching career with the Jays would be in serious jeopardy. Even worse I wouldn’t be able to snap my fingers for Mary to get me a beer; assuming I got up the nerve to try it.
Hitchhiking to the West Coast would be out. A trip to the Maritimes would still be possible because I’d be standing on the other side of the road and could use my left thumb. I know that doesn’t make any sense but I’ve just gone through a painful experience and my mind has yet to recover.
In this day and age we forget how important a thumb is. It was the difference between life and death in the Roman Empire. Whether a gladiator lived or died depended on which way the Emperor’s thumb was pointing, up or down. I don’t know what would happen if it was sore like mine and he could only point it sideways – probably have to let the lions figure it out.
If little Jack Horner hadn’t had a thumb he never would have been able to stick it in a pie and pull out a plum… I’m sorry. It must be the lack of sleep and the memory of the excruciating pain that tortured me for several seconds.
Why is it we get mysterious aches and pains as we get older, and why me, of all people? I am barely approaching middle age and years away from my crisis. If I were elderly like most of the members of the Twin Lakes Probus Club I could see it. (I joined it years ago as part of an experiment. (The executive thought adding a youth division to the organization would be an inspiration to the older folks in their 60s and early 70s as they hobble about for no apparent reason.)
Every now and then my thigh aches too and that is annoying, admittedly after I spill hot coffee on it. My chest is sore once in a while in the very spot where the surgeons went at me back in 2012 – especially after I spill hot coffee on it.
I have a thermal cup for trips, but it’s practically useless. It doesn’t fit into the cup holder in any known car and the only way I can use it when I’m going somewhere is to stick it between my legs and we all know what a dangerous move that is. Although some woman made a million or so suing McDonald’s, so a good spill could help with my retirement.
For some reason I can’t drink coffee while holding a thermal cup in my left hand. My wrist doesn’t twist that way and I’m liable to pour it on my crotch. With only me to sue, that isn’t much of a moneymaking proposition.
All this thinking has made my thumb hurt again. I better dial 911 – never mind, I see the problem. It’s sticking in my hot coffee.
(Image Supplied)
