Snickering Hedgehogs and other Imponderables

This was the headline on the email that appeared in my work inbox Friday morning:

ATTENTION ASSOCIATES:  Due to system limitations we were unable to exclude you from this communication.  However, this communication is not intended for you. Please disregard this communication in its entirety.

I pondered over this statement for some time before reading over the remainder of the epistle. Now like most of you, I get a lot of ignorable emails that I delete without reading. Normally this would have been one of those, but because I was told to ignore it I pored over every word, including the unintelligible attached document. It was about some legal issues I had never heard of and did not care to, but the disclaimer at the top compelled me to read. I was almost convinced that I was part of some twisted corporate psychological experiment but finally concluded that no one at my place had enough free time or was clever enough to devise this sort of plot. I determined that whoever sent it was an idiot and I certainly did not have time to entertain it further.

In fact work has been so exceedingly demanding lately even reading critical email is a luxury, but Friday I had a slight respite, as I was the only person in my department. Without interruptions I was able to accomplish much more productive work and even have a few minutes of free time, so I turned my attention to a small personal annoyance that has been plaguing me, a quarter size itchy spot on the inside of my wrist. It started three months ago as a blister of bee sting size and has gradually grown to the point of being unignorable. Being involved in the health care industry I have access to numerous on line diagnostic resources and just enough false expertise to think I can substitute that for a medical degree.

As I stumble about in the TMI graphic pictures of skin rashes, I am astounded and horrified by the pustules and lesions that can appear on the human body. Finally I discover one less horrendous that seems to look exactly like my minor problem. I page through the description and I am smugly patting myself on the back for the genius of my medical expertise until I come to the cause of my condition. The most likely culprit seems to be a fungal infection caused by contact with a hedgehog.

This stops me dead in my tracks of course as I walk backwards through my mind trying to remember any random hedgehog encounters. I know they are certainly adorable creatures and while I would find picking up one irresistible, they are not native to this continent. It seems highly unlikely I have that particular fungi and even if I had I did not know the treatment. It was time to call the doctor. I arrived in his office a few hours later and held out my arm. “Well,” he said very scientifically, “Looks like a fungus.” I am vindicated and braced for his question about recent encounters with hedgehogs when he moves on. “Of course, it could be some sort of autoimmune disorder. Maybe we should start you on a round of steroids.” I start shaking my head no before the words come out of my mouth. Both my husband and my daughter had been subjected to steroid drugs recently and I already knew the side effects.

“What would be the treatment for a fungus?” I ask, still trying to remember the hedgehog encounter.

“Oh, we would use a topical ointment for a week and see if it clears up. I could give you an injection of steroids if you prefer.” I can see he still favors the shotgun approach.

“Let’s try the cream first. If that doesn’t take care of it I’ll consider the steroids later.” I am thinking that I’ve had this for months now and another week is not going to mean life or death. He writes out the script and hands it to me. As he turns to leave he glances over at my iPhone lying on the counter.

“Is that mine?” He looks confused for a second and then realizes he has left his new iPhone on the opposite counter. My doc is a member of my gym and I noted he had been there playing with his new phone recently.

“You would know immediately if you tried to use mine. It’s password protected,” I explain.

“Oh, I just slide mine open, no password. I don’t really have anything on it except porn,” he quips with a wicked little smile that lets me know he’s joking. I think. Leaving the office I marvel at the strange relationship I have with my doctor, a man who has seen me naked, does my annual pap smear and breast exam while making every effort to be professional, and can still kid with me about porn when I have my clothes on. That thought is soon displaced by images of hedgehogs as I drive across the street to the pharmacy.

Back at work I check my email first and my other mystery of the day is still there. I can’t decide if I should delete it or not. Finally with impending meetings in the afternoon I dismiss my hedgehog theories, my young doctor’s porn comment, and my strange email with one final click, thankful that even my mundane world still holds enough mystery and intrigue enough to keep me amused.