The doctors appear to be a little scared of whatever it is I have. They upped my antibiotics to something stronger, packed my wound with medicated gauze after reducing me to tears due to their failed attempt at lancing.
Because I wanted to be able to have a coherent conversation with the doctor for my appointment I only took one of the Vicodin instead of the two prescribed for pain. Stupid me. The least painful thing of the entire hour and a half was the repeated use of needles. At one point I was in a full yoga back bend from the pain.
“Are you okay?” she kept asking me.
Tears streaming down my face, always wanting to be a nice person I was all, “Oh, yeah. Just great. Thanks. Thank you.”
I tried to read the ym they gave me, but I couldn’t do anything but clutch the paper-covered pillow with everything I had.
“Does it feel any better?” she asked with sympathy in her voice.
I paused for a second. “It’s really hard to answer that right now,” I said between sobs.
“I understand,” she said, handing me a prescription for stronger drugs.
Then she said, “If this isn’t better soon, you may need to see a surgeon. Come back Monday.”
This all makes me very sad, you see, and is costing more and more money by the minute, so I’m upping my Karma by filling the rest of today’s blog posts with good causes.