The last forty-eight hours have been intense.  A bacterial attack, I speculate, upon my right index fingertip proved severe.  The culprit was a coolant fluid used for metal cutting at work, a liquid known to harbor bacteria and fungus.  I cleaned several filters for the fluid without gloves, believing the washing of my hands sufficient enough.  It now appears there was an open wound beneath my right index fingernail.  The bodily assault was hideous, causing a swelling and the creation of blood blisters.  The searing pain was horrendous.  The aftereffects forced a fingertip appearance as if it had experienced an intense smashing; bruises covering the fingertip and extending down to the middle knuckle. There was never a contusion, just an invasion.  I am positive I will lose my fingernail.  This morning I was treated by a competent and friendly hand specialist and his assistant.  They were so stunned by my fingertip they took photos.  Cultures were taken and sent out in order to clearly understand what happen.  They blocked the nerves in the finger with an anesthetic, before opening the blisters, relieving pressure and inducing blood flow.  Even through the numbness, the relief tendered settled soothingly.  The hand doctor squeezed and prodded the numb finger, forcing out blood and puss, informing me it felt good for him to relieve the finger as it was so obviously in need of purging.  He comforted me with the acknowledgement I must have endured a horrible night.  He was correct, yet I found the endeavor spiritual, not overly proud of my resorting to panic, convinced I was going to lose the fingertip.  The explosion of swelling and blood blisters a day after the initial irritation was beyond belief.  Thursday before the Nick Cave movie, we attended, impromptu, a Mass and specially called for post-Mass Eucharistic prayer service at Our Lady Queen of Peace in Shaker Heights.  Throughout the Mass and prayers for world peace before the Eucharist, the pain climaxed in horrible throbbing and harsh relentlessness. Internally, I spoke meekly to my Lord, trying to accept and understand.  Others endure much more formidable physical distress. Scripture words: And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away; it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body go into hell—arose relevant.  A vivid dream the previous night of my fingernail falling off, followed by complications of losing my right hand, frightened my mind.  I was convinced I was at least going to lose my fingertip due to a dramatic fungal assault upon my fingertip bone.  The hand doctor assured me it was not a fungus invasion due to the rapidity of my symptoms.  I learned a fungus attack is slow, taking time for the fungus to invade and spread.  He is confident that though my experience was traumatic there will be complete recovery.  He assures me the culture will explain what happen; prognosticating a chemical burn created the quickly exploding infection.  I reside in the spiritual nature of the bodily complication—identifying imperfections, seeking the Lord for a greater understanding of myself, recognizing the heroic effort of the significant other in supporting and nurturing me through the forty-eight hours of misfortune.  She truly cares; kind and gentle in the giving of herself to the commitment to my welfare and happiness.  Genuine, I find myself staring at her at times, amazed by the authenticity of her feelings for me.  I slept through the afternoon after Mass at St Paul Shrine, falling into a deep sleep, quenching body and spirit.  God is good and all giving.