Old Medicine And A New Use For Edgar Allan Poe

It had doubled – no tripled – in size, at least. Being a naturally worrisome person, I spent all night thinking I had cancer. My husband, Steve, was having none of it, and said I wasn’t allowed to talk about it again until I saw a doctor. Fair enough – why does he have to be so damn logical about these things?

The next day, I went to a walk-in clinic. The doc took a look, wiggled my wrist and pressed on the lump before confidently saying it was a synovial cyst – essentially harmless.

He drew me a nice picture of how the wrist works and how the cyst forms. He said it happens sometimes if there’s been an injury to the area, or because of repetitive movements. Since I’m at the computer eight-plus hours a day, five days a week, and the lump appeared on my mouse hand, it’s likely my poor computer habits are to blame (I’ve since gone out and bought a new mouse pad with wrist support).

He said most people just ignore it unless it becomes painful. You could drain it, but chances are, it will come back. You could have surgery on it, but chances are, it will come back. Or, he said, you could smack it with a book, like they did in the olden days. It’s really the easiest solution but, he said, most people don’t do that. Duh.

I came home and told Steve what the options were.

“Let’s smack it!” he said. He’s usually such a gentle guy – I had to ask myself whether I should be concerned at his enthusiasm!

I dismissed the idea, my stomach turning at even the thought.