If so, I'm a lousy date.
I should have listened to Dana when she told me, at drinks after rehearsal, to not scratch my mosquito bites, as they could get infected. Ha, I scoffed, such things never happen to me! The next night, I was thinking, huh, these bites really itch still, and boy, it hurts to scratch them. Oh well! Scratch, scratch, scratch. By Thursday night, I couldn't walk, and my ankle was one big blob of red and hot. Strange, I thought to myself, must be an allergic reaction. So, I took an antihistamine and some ibuprofen. Well, the next day, the pain was worse, and one of the doctors I work with, with whom I have a rapport and felt comfortable mentioning my predicament to, made me prop up my leg and, as she poked at my ankle and I sucked in air through my teeth in pain, told me to go straight to the ER. I needed antibiotics, she said. So, off I went like the obedient worker bee, and was diagnosed straight away with cellulitis. Doesn't sound so bad, I thought, as I hobbled back to the office to tell my bosses that I had to go home, per the doctor's orders. By the time I managed to get home after having to get the drugs, my ankle was so swollen and painful that, if I sat down and then stood up again, the pain was so intense it made gasp and tear up. I took some ibuprofen and the antibiotics, and thought I was better. After propping up my foot all night and the next morning, the swelling was better and the pain had decreased. Christian had a party on Saturday night, so he went without me, per my instructions. I was lying on the couch watching TV, and I suddenly got very, very cold. My hands and feet were icy. I covered myself up and thought, huh, funny. It's 80 degrees out. So, a few minutes went by and I got colder and colder, and my cheeks got hotter and hotter. I was in fever denial, as I was told that, if I had a fever, I had to go back to the hospital and by all things Godly, I did NOT want to do that. Now, my temp almost always runs about 97.6-97.9, but very rarely over 98.1. Why? No clue. So, when I saw 99, 99.2, 99.5 and up up up on the thermometer, I got a little worried. I pulled the blanket off my feet and looked down, and I saw this:
Now, I'm chubby, but I have little hands and feet where you can actually see the bones. Do you see any bones? No. Just bulgy red skin and unpainted toenails. Of all the times to lapse on pedicures. I called poor Christian in the tiniest of panics and he came home to take me to the ER. So, with the fever and the nasty club foot (the smaller circle is marking the inflammation on Friday and the line on top is marking the inflammation on Saturday) it was decided to keep me there long enough to give me IV antibiotics, and sneak in a tetanus booster while I was waiting. Shifty bastards.
I spent five hours in the ER, which isn't bad, all things considered. Usually, ER visits take 8-9 hours and one has to sit in the waiting room with gunshot victims and hookers. The Northwest Hosptial staff was fantastic, and everyone had a good sense of humor, although I'm sure things would have been different had they been busier. My video iPod was the hit of the evening. Apparently, though, I cursed them by commenting on the quietness of the evening, or so I was informed by the ER tech who came to unplug my pump so I could go to the bathroom. In hindsight, a large raspberry iced tea was not the best idea. Here is my arm shortly before the infusion began:
The nurse thought I was pretty gruesome for taking pictures, but I must blog.
But, the wallop did a good job, and the inflammation is mostly gone. I have an ankle bone again! I'm sure everything at work will be dire when I go back tomorrow, but I can always summon some tears and clutch my ankle and say I have to go home.