Twinkle twinkle

I thought I had heard about every possible side effect of chemotherapy, but yesterday my oncologist sprung new one on me. In the same tone you or I might use to say "Don't be surprised if it rains this afternoon," he said, "Don't be surprised if your fingernails fall off."

!

I'm pretty good at complying with Doctor's Orders, but I'm having a little trouble with this one. I like my fingernails--I've grown rather attached to them over the years, trimming and filing and polishing them to a high gloss--so if they suddenly decide to leap off my hands and pursue other interests, I think I'm entitled to be a wee bit surprised. The little ingrates.

I appreciate my doctor's warning, but what I really need is for someone to warn me when the oncologist is about to casually drop some new alarming information into the conversation. For instance, yesterday before my appointment the nurse could have taken me aside and said, "Don't be surprised if the doctor says, 'Don't be surprised if your fingernails fall off." And then maybe the receptionist could cushion the blow even more by warning me, "Don't be surprised if the nurse says, 'Don't be surprised if the doctor says, "Don't be surprised if your fingernails fall off."'"

I imagine a long series of warnings, an infinite regress going back to the time when I was a mere twinkle in my father's eye. Some kind person should have looked squarely into that twinkle and said, "Yo, Twink, one of these days a doctor is going to rock your world and usher you into a new dimension in which it is perfectly normal for your fingernails to fall off. But whatever you do, don't be surprised."

What sense would I have made of the information at that point? I probably would have kept on twinkling. Which, I suppose, is what I'll try to do if my fingernails fall off. I'll be surprised, yes, but I'll just have to accept the fingernail mutiny as yet another ordinary aspect of The New Normal.