I have a ganglion cyst on my left hand, and it’s seriously freaking me out. A doctor looked at it today and said not to worry about it, to put ice on it, take ibuprofen, and pull on something to alleviate the pressure on the joint. He specifically said NOT to hit it with a large book like people used to do in the olden days. I’m going to have to respectfully disagree.


For those of you who do not know, I am a Hypochondriac with 29 phobias. Every time a commercial about a class action law suit comes on TV, I’m convinced I have whatever illness they are talking about. “I think I have Mesothelioma.” “No you do not.” Normal conversation in our house. So, when my doctor told me this bump is a ganglion cyst, I came home and immediately Googled the thing and found some very disturbing photos. These cysts are caused by some trauma to the joint, and they grow on the tendon and between bones right at the joint. When opened up, they’re this really weird white bubble filled with jelly-like fluid and they look like a dead cow eyeball. And the word “ganglion” just sounds like something bad.

Just the IDEA that something weird and foreign is inside my hand is freaking me out. I want this thing GONE. I do not want this dead eyeball thing inside my body. It’ll get bigger and grosser by the minute, I just know it. It will take over my hand and I will look like the Elephant Man.

In typical Dawn and Mark fashion, we completely ignored what the doctor said, and decided to go on YouTube and figure out how to get rid of it immediately without having to pay for a procedure. Mark went to get a big book and I sat on the couch shouting, “OWWW!!!” before he even touched me. He gave my hand a huge WHACK and I screamed, “OOOWWWW!!! GAH!!!” and he laughed hysterically. Nothing had changed, so this time Mr. Fixit got a Sharpie and put a dot on the top of the lump. I assumed the position – lump pointed out, other hand over my eyes. WHACK!!! “AAAHHH!!! OWE!!!” And he laughed even harder. The lump was still there, but had shifted a little bit. So one more round with the Sharpie, the book, my screaming, and his hysterical laughter. And the lump was still there.

“I think I should hit it with a hammer,” he said.

“NO! You are not hitting my hand with a hammer!”

“I just think that it’s hitting too much of your hand and not enough of the bump.”

“You’re not hitting my hand with a hammer.”

I retreated to my office to check email, and he came in with … a hammer.

“Get away from me with that! You are NOT hitting my hand with a hammer.”

“It’s a small hammer.”


I guess I’ll draw a smiley face on my new friend and call him Herbie.