Like fingernails down a chalkboard… these are the days of our lives.

Ordinarily I don’t think I’ what you call squeamish.

I can tell you all the gory details of how all nine of my TVEPU’s were done (Trans-Vaginal Egg Pick Up).  It’s an IVF procedure where they stick a massive needle up your cloaca and pierce it through the vaginal wall using ultrasound guidance to aspirate all the fluid from each of the oocytes on  your ovaries after a grueling three week schedule of injecting yourself with hormones.  I can discuss how I had to give myself a timed intramuscular injection into the deep tissue on my thigh.  I happily talk to anyone about various date palm spikes gone through legs, am happy to watch eye surgery on television and hear stories of misadventures with nail guns, chain saws, boat propellers, wood lathes, insinkerators and what have you….

…. so long as they don’t involve someone’s hands…. shudder

And then it’s a different story entirely.  Yaleman cut his hand at work yesterday…. and it makes my stomach lurch just thinking about it.  I can’t stand to hear someone talking about having an injury to their hands without physically cringing and feeling my nauseous.  I once had a nice run in between my left index finger and a medical scalpel which I was using in a manner other than directed by the manufacturer.  This irresponsible use of said scalpel resulted in my slicing my from the tip of my left index fingernail down through the nail and right down to the knuckle cutting right through the skin, ligaments, nerves and into the bone.  Naturally this necessitated a quick run to the nearest doctor and there were stitches required to put it all together again.  Happily the doctor was wrong when he said I’d have an awful scar and likely loose all movement and sensation of that finger.  But even still I’m not totally sure that is where my hand injury aversion/squeamishness stems from.

I love hands, I have a folder full of pictures I have snavelled off the internets of beautiful expressive hands.  I’m reluctant to call it a fetish, but it certainly does lean in a fetish sort of direction.  I like having my own hands beautifully manicured and feel unattractive and unfeminine if I let my nails go unattended.  In men I look for large masculine capable looking hands more than I look for a handsome face.  It’s just one of those weird ‘me’ things and it’s been getting steadily stronger over the years I think…. but I’m not entirely sure why.

Could be worse I guess …. I could have a thing for earlobes or something.  🙂

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