A letter from the Front

Dear Daniel,

I write this letter with the battle lines drawn and my people, like your people, hunkered down waiting to see who will strike first. It is tense here. I assume it is there as well.

So it seems an odd time to send a letter, especially one where I am offering to help you with your little health issue. But we’ve all heard the stories of your mysterious affliction - thumbs which periodically rot and fall off. They are the talk of the camp and some of the stories are really quite outlandish.

From more reliable sources, I've heard they always regrow, like some sort of newt, but that the rot sets in as soon as they return. I'd imagine it’s quite a problem.

If it were me, I’d always be hoping that maybe this time they just wouldn’t rot...that at some point, they would regrow and stick. And that I'd finally get to live a normal life. But it’s been going on for some 30 years now, out of 40, right?

I hear you’ve called every doctor and specialist over the years. But no one has yet figured it out. And that’s why I’m writing. I think I can help.

I'm guessing there is a window between when the thumbs start to numb out and when they actually fall off. As early as you can stand it, within that window, rip the thumbs off. If it hurts, it will only hurt for a bit, right? 

Meanwhile, have someone you trust stand with you and tell you that “It looks like a baby chicken hatching!” They should be enthusiastic and convincing. Even though of course, this isn't really true. But get creative and find a way to make yourself believe it…even a little bit.

If you do this for long enough, each time they regrow, eventually, gradually, your body will relearn how to have thumbs.

Here’s my theory - your body thinks your thumbs are, essentially, a kind of fruit. And by reprogramming your body and thumbs to see themselves a bit differently, specifically as a baby chicks, and to experience a bit of the pain of separation,  it will let go of this false self image and perhaps re-learn how to “thumb”.

See, when you were younger, before you can possibly remember, you were only called “sweetie” when you were sucking your thumbs. And otherwise you were called some really cruel names. Your parents were violent and strange - did you know that? - so this one "nice" name confused your body, and it eventually mapped your thumbs with to sweet fruits.

I know you can’t validate this, and I know it seems a far fetched notion. But I knew your parents well, and was there when they died. 

Anyway, I’m here, if you need me. I’d happily meet you in the field between our camps and provide moral support if it would help you find the bravery to yank those suckers off any sooner. 

Always yours, 
Cousin Mabel, Major General of The Opposing