Seven more doses of my antibiotic.
My lips have been burning . . . like they are really, really chapped and I have been out in the winter wind sans chapstick. I assume that it could be an allergic reaction of some sort, but have been assured that allergic reactions don't happen six days in. Or a fungal infection caused by my current lack of "good" bacteria. Yuck. Let's not think about that.
So lots of lip gloss and allegra have been getting me through. Actually, does feel like when you use that "lip plumper" stuff, which I don't . . . ever.
So a day and a half . . . and a month of "special" soap. Let's hope my lips don't fall off. This has been the best medical odyssey ever!
Friday, July 25, 2008
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Nice Italian Boys Hiding in Their Houses Playing X-Box
When we get there, it is packed. A line out the door. On a Tuesday. What the hell? Are they giving out free food? And the people at the host stand don't seem to know what to do. Frozen like scared deer. "Oh MY GOD, what are we going to DO with all these PEOPLE??"
I am in line long enough for Princess to go to the restroom and for me to chat up the neighboring "mature" ladies. They liked my shoes. And as it turns out, they were giving out free food. It was a "buy an entree, get an entree free" night.
It was a wine tasting showcasing Michigan wines. I know, I know . . . but I've had some drinkable Michigan wines, I swear. None of those wines were showcased, however. And it was totally disorganized. And the people surrounding us seemed to be more about the food, which wasn't all that great. I poured out four of the six wines I sampled . . . poured out, didn't drink them. And the bartenders were light pourers. Oh, and the place smelled like sewage. Evidently, from the Rouge River flowing next to the patio. And as much as I was trying to placate Princess with "it's all about attitude" . . . well, she was right, it was terrible. I was just thinking that it was funny, because it was so awful. Oh, and single men don't go to wine tastings. Duh. Because they are all at home, playing with their Playstations. But we were really wasting the pretty . . . because the poor dudes on their second dates weren't even cute or interesting enough to steal.
Afterward there was a lovely dinner. An excellent wine. Princess treated. She is too good to me.
And Princess has rallied me throughout this "hey, I might want to have an significant other" process. She has always been supportive. Always there to point out that it took her friend four years (which doesn't work anymore . . . it's been more than four years). So now, it's time for her to get out there. But as I am a matchdotcom disaster, I can only give advice about the Internet. . . not finding a "nice Italian boy" real time. I really am convinced they are at home playing X-box. According to SM, the barista was checking out my chest the other day (which is a whole other blog . . . which won't be written). So where do all the nice Italian boys work? I do need cement.
We had planned for "Table for Eight" but they won't let you bring friends or do anything in tandem. So perhaps we will pretend to be divorced Catholics . . . which wouldn't be too scandalous, as I am not really looking and Princess is Catholic. The divorced Catholic group has lots of mixers.
But please, offer suggestions.
Oh, and as an aside . . . or just a random thought . . . it is amazing me the lengths people will go to to make themselves unhappy, or quite miserable depending on the person. Why is it that people do that?
I am in line long enough for Princess to go to the restroom and for me to chat up the neighboring "mature" ladies. They liked my shoes. And as it turns out, they were giving out free food. It was a "buy an entree, get an entree free" night.
It was a wine tasting showcasing Michigan wines. I know, I know . . . but I've had some drinkable Michigan wines, I swear. None of those wines were showcased, however. And it was totally disorganized. And the people surrounding us seemed to be more about the food, which wasn't all that great. I poured out four of the six wines I sampled . . . poured out, didn't drink them. And the bartenders were light pourers. Oh, and the place smelled like sewage. Evidently, from the Rouge River flowing next to the patio. And as much as I was trying to placate Princess with "it's all about attitude" . . . well, she was right, it was terrible. I was just thinking that it was funny, because it was so awful. Oh, and single men don't go to wine tastings. Duh. Because they are all at home, playing with their Playstations. But we were really wasting the pretty . . . because the poor dudes on their second dates weren't even cute or interesting enough to steal.
Afterward there was a lovely dinner. An excellent wine. Princess treated. She is too good to me.
And Princess has rallied me throughout this "hey, I might want to have an significant other" process. She has always been supportive. Always there to point out that it took her friend four years (which doesn't work anymore . . . it's been more than four years). So now, it's time for her to get out there. But as I am a matchdotcom disaster, I can only give advice about the Internet. . . not finding a "nice Italian boy" real time. I really am convinced they are at home playing X-box. According to SM, the barista was checking out my chest the other day (which is a whole other blog . . . which won't be written). So where do all the nice Italian boys work? I do need cement.
We had planned for "Table for Eight" but they won't let you bring friends or do anything in tandem. So perhaps we will pretend to be divorced Catholics . . . which wouldn't be too scandalous, as I am not really looking and Princess is Catholic. The divorced Catholic group has lots of mixers.
But please, offer suggestions.
Oh, and as an aside . . . or just a random thought . . . it is amazing me the lengths people will go to to make themselves unhappy, or quite miserable depending on the person. Why is it that people do that?
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Not My Fault, But I Do Need a Drink
I am now on my third dose, out of forty, of dicloxacillin.
And as with all of this adventure, the freedom from IV antibiotics comes with a few . . . let us say . . . speedbumps? Challenges? Dumb shit I have to deal with?
I'm supposed to take dicloxacillin for times a day. Every six hours. Okay, so 7 am, 1 pm, 7 pm and 1 am. Reasonable enough. Would like to probably do a 6 am start, but didn't get there this morning and probably won't for the duration, so 7 am it is.
Now I'm either supposed to take it an hour before eating . . . or two to three hours after eating. And this is what is tricky to me. This is what just caused me to take a spoon out of my mouth and spit yogurt back into a cup. Because it was 6:53 . . . so I can't eat. I can't eat until 8 pm.
So the arbitrary eating rules are going to get to me. The thinking . . . wait . . . can I eat this bite of cantaloupe now? Or do I have to wait an hour? And yes, I could shift everything over to say 10 am . . . which, let's see, math . . . 4 pm, 10 pm and 4 am. But I don't want to set my alarm for 4 am and heaven forbid if I miss a dose. Because I will not go back to that doctor unless I can say with a straight face that I followed ALL the instructions.
Infectious disease doctor is pretty sure that I do not want to get well . . . in fact, I think that he thinks, that I'm actually seeking out staph germs and putting them all over my body. That I want to be "colonized". That I go, late at night and frolic in unknown McDonalds ball pits . . . and eat candy off the sidewalk. I sneak out and rub my legs on bums. And then go to public restrooms and just lounge around. And I'm not even polite enough to get interesting staph germs, like MRSA. I'm just out collecting regular, old, simple staph. How impolite.
When my fifth abscess did not get better as fast as he would like, it was my fault. I must had not followed the Epsom salt instructions. That was the problem.
So I have to jump through all the hoops, just in case I have to go back. Recurrence is high for staph. Just naturally high. There are support groups . . . some people have it for years. And I want to be able to look him in the eye and say "Nope. Not my fault." (You asshole.) I followed all the instructions.
So in another 45 minutes I can eat the damn yogurt and what ever else I would like for three hours. Dicloxacillin smells funny, which can only mean that I will smell like dicloxacillin in a matter of moments.
Oh, and one can drink alcohol and take antibiotics . . . it just isn't the most stellar of ideas, as your liver is working overtime with processing the antibiotics. Urban myth.
Okay. Just nine and a half more days of this.
And as with all of this adventure, the freedom from IV antibiotics comes with a few . . . let us say . . . speedbumps? Challenges? Dumb shit I have to deal with?
I'm supposed to take dicloxacillin for times a day. Every six hours. Okay, so 7 am, 1 pm, 7 pm and 1 am. Reasonable enough. Would like to probably do a 6 am start, but didn't get there this morning and probably won't for the duration, so 7 am it is.
Now I'm either supposed to take it an hour before eating . . . or two to three hours after eating. And this is what is tricky to me. This is what just caused me to take a spoon out of my mouth and spit yogurt back into a cup. Because it was 6:53 . . . so I can't eat. I can't eat until 8 pm.
So the arbitrary eating rules are going to get to me. The thinking . . . wait . . . can I eat this bite of cantaloupe now? Or do I have to wait an hour? And yes, I could shift everything over to say 10 am . . . which, let's see, math . . . 4 pm, 10 pm and 4 am. But I don't want to set my alarm for 4 am and heaven forbid if I miss a dose. Because I will not go back to that doctor unless I can say with a straight face that I followed ALL the instructions.
Infectious disease doctor is pretty sure that I do not want to get well . . . in fact, I think that he thinks, that I'm actually seeking out staph germs and putting them all over my body. That I want to be "colonized". That I go, late at night and frolic in unknown McDonalds ball pits . . . and eat candy off the sidewalk. I sneak out and rub my legs on bums. And then go to public restrooms and just lounge around. And I'm not even polite enough to get interesting staph germs, like MRSA. I'm just out collecting regular, old, simple staph. How impolite.
When my fifth abscess did not get better as fast as he would like, it was my fault. I must had not followed the Epsom salt instructions. That was the problem.
So I have to jump through all the hoops, just in case I have to go back. Recurrence is high for staph. Just naturally high. There are support groups . . . some people have it for years. And I want to be able to look him in the eye and say "Nope. Not my fault." (You asshole.) I followed all the instructions.
So in another 45 minutes I can eat the damn yogurt and what ever else I would like for three hours. Dicloxacillin smells funny, which can only mean that I will smell like dicloxacillin in a matter of moments.
Oh, and one can drink alcohol and take antibiotics . . . it just isn't the most stellar of ideas, as your liver is working overtime with processing the antibiotics. Urban myth.
Okay. Just nine and a half more days of this.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
What? I Always Make Him Buy His Own Stuff
It was past 11 p.m. and we had reached the checkout . . . after going through produce, grocery, toys, h.b.a. and then grocery again (I didn't want my milk to get warm). And honestly, despite my three hour nap, I was waining. I hate being sick.
I placed all my items on the belt, quickly . . . without thinking. He placed all his items carefully, in groupings, how I usually do it when I do not know the person behind me . . . when I am not in a rush. I usually place things in the order that I want them to be bagged.
Our cashier was confused by the "place between orders" bar . . . we had used one cart. "So this is yours too?" she asked about the neatly rowed low sodium V-8. "No, that's his . . . "
The cashier thought this was hilarious. Funniest thing she had heard all night. His stuff. That was a good one. And how was I to explain? "We carpooled." Even more funny. And I guess one would assume that a couple sharing a cart, I don't know, would not being going to different places at the end of the evening. Here I was making him buy his own stuff.
He tried explaining, "It's just more fun to go shopping with someone else . . . more entertaining . . . I mostly entertain her, I guess . . . " And this statement is true. We did have a sword fight in the toy aisle.
The cashier is not convinced and we have amused her tremendously. I think we made her night.
I placed all my items on the belt, quickly . . . without thinking. He placed all his items carefully, in groupings, how I usually do it when I do not know the person behind me . . . when I am not in a rush. I usually place things in the order that I want them to be bagged.
Our cashier was confused by the "place between orders" bar . . . we had used one cart. "So this is yours too?" she asked about the neatly rowed low sodium V-8. "No, that's his . . . "
The cashier thought this was hilarious. Funniest thing she had heard all night. His stuff. That was a good one. And how was I to explain? "We carpooled." Even more funny. And I guess one would assume that a couple sharing a cart, I don't know, would not being going to different places at the end of the evening. Here I was making him buy his own stuff.
He tried explaining, "It's just more fun to go shopping with someone else . . . more entertaining . . . I mostly entertain her, I guess . . . " And this statement is true. We did have a sword fight in the toy aisle.
The cashier is not convinced and we have amused her tremendously. I think we made her night.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Relatively Good News
Two more days on IV antibiotics . . . and then ten more days on orals . . . and hopefully, knock wood, I'm done.
Doctor seems to think that it will come back and that I will have to go on a series of monthly antibiotics. Seems that he thinks that I am "colonized". But only two more days of being coughed on by the woman with bad feet, who really needs to go get her lungs checked. I worry.
So now I only have one painless ugly thing on my leg and some really ugly scars. And maybe in after two days, I won't want to sleep all day (like I did today . . . ). I have a migraine and I'm afraid to take anything much (although it did get so bad that I took two Excedrin Migraine) lest a liver blow out. My liver is finicky enough as it is . . .
So in twelve days, I'm so having a glass of wine. Or maybe two.
Doctor seems to think that it will come back and that I will have to go on a series of monthly antibiotics. Seems that he thinks that I am "colonized". But only two more days of being coughed on by the woman with bad feet, who really needs to go get her lungs checked. I worry.
So now I only have one painless ugly thing on my leg and some really ugly scars. And maybe in after two days, I won't want to sleep all day (like I did today . . . ). I have a migraine and I'm afraid to take anything much (although it did get so bad that I took two Excedrin Migraine) lest a liver blow out. My liver is finicky enough as it is . . .
So in twelve days, I'm so having a glass of wine. Or maybe two.
Friday, July 11, 2008
A Newly Formed Germ Phobe
I once took pride in the fact that I was not a germ-phobe. I didn't carry hand sanitizer. I wasn't constantly spraying my classroom down with bleach. I touched shopping carts. I picked up things off the ground. I had long nails. I went and got pedicures.
I would step foot in a public bathroom.
I was careless and fancy free . . . What? My immune system would handle it. In fact, my immune system would be better for it. Right?
And then I got a spot on my hip . . . which at first I thought was a zit . . . and then thought it was a spider bite . . . right on my hip bone . . .
And after a month of seemingly rotting and a week of people poking me with needles and missing veins (not like "my shots", as I call them, for the allergies . . . they can't miss with those) I think I am reconsidering my position.
I may want a bubble. And everything wiped down with antiseptic. And a world without public restrooms, or people if I cannot verify their level of cleanliness. After two weeks of being judged for a pile of germs that I cannot control . . .
I am afraid to go anywhere. I don't want to infect my friends, or family, or perfectly innocent strangers for that matter. And as careful as I am . . . gloves, disinfectant, following the instructions to the letter . . . I am still not better. Still oozing and contagious. (Although, knock wood, no new spots) And if you read the evil, evil internet I may be doing this whole routine (showering three times a day, using everything only once, hibicleanse every other day, sticking shit up my nose twice a day, cutting my fingernails super short, AND IV antibiotics . . . or oral antibiotics four times a day) for a very long time. Perhaps 12 weeks. And it could still come back.
And there is the faint praise, at least it's not MRSA. But my full test results STILL haven't come in.
Today, the nurse's glove somehow got stuck and she accidentally ripped out my IV needle. I know she didn't mean to do it and felt terrible . . . and it pales in comparison to the time that they stuck me four times in one day . . . but no one really should have to go through this at thirty seven. Eighty? I don't know. I suppose if it were the Middle Ages, I would be dead by now. How's that for a positive spin?
And honestly, I don't know how I'm going to leave the house . . . I have to go to the bathroom every five minutes.
I would step foot in a public bathroom.
I was careless and fancy free . . . What? My immune system would handle it. In fact, my immune system would be better for it. Right?
And then I got a spot on my hip . . . which at first I thought was a zit . . . and then thought it was a spider bite . . . right on my hip bone . . .
And after a month of seemingly rotting and a week of people poking me with needles and missing veins (not like "my shots", as I call them, for the allergies . . . they can't miss with those) I think I am reconsidering my position.
I may want a bubble. And everything wiped down with antiseptic. And a world without public restrooms, or people if I cannot verify their level of cleanliness. After two weeks of being judged for a pile of germs that I cannot control . . .
I am afraid to go anywhere. I don't want to infect my friends, or family, or perfectly innocent strangers for that matter. And as careful as I am . . . gloves, disinfectant, following the instructions to the letter . . . I am still not better. Still oozing and contagious. (Although, knock wood, no new spots) And if you read the evil, evil internet I may be doing this whole routine (showering three times a day, using everything only once, hibicleanse every other day, sticking shit up my nose twice a day, cutting my fingernails super short, AND IV antibiotics . . . or oral antibiotics four times a day) for a very long time. Perhaps 12 weeks. And it could still come back.
And there is the faint praise, at least it's not MRSA. But my full test results STILL haven't come in.
Today, the nurse's glove somehow got stuck and she accidentally ripped out my IV needle. I know she didn't mean to do it and felt terrible . . . and it pales in comparison to the time that they stuck me four times in one day . . . but no one really should have to go through this at thirty seven. Eighty? I don't know. I suppose if it were the Middle Ages, I would be dead by now. How's that for a positive spin?
And honestly, I don't know how I'm going to leave the house . . . I have to go to the bathroom every five minutes.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Yet Another Rabbit Hole
My street is under construction and I am not sure that I can get out of my driveway.
The DPW told me to park on a side street, but they ticket on side streets after 2 a.m. . . . and it's a giant pain in the ass.
I'm going to the infectious disease center to hopefully find out what I have and to see a real live doctor . . . I have a migraine and I'm afraid to take anything, lest thinning my blood more. They poked me three times yesterday, four times the day before. Let's see if we can go for five today.
So I'm cranky. Very, very cranky. I want off the drugs. They aren't making me better. And due to the nature of antibiotics, I'm not sure that I can safely stop the drugs. Also, if I get something else . . . say, a sinus infection . . . now that I have the strongest antibiotics in my system, what do I do next? And I'm still in pain and I'm realizing that no one cares about that. They just see pain as part of the business. And if I catch something else from all these old people coughing and oozing and bleeding . . .
I should have just taken the oral antibiotic from the crazy lady that wouldn't spend more than five seconds with me. Because much like an Alice in Wonderland adventure, the deeper I get into this the weirder and worse it gets. The last doctor basically took a long time to tell me that I was dirty and fat. That I should put my clothing in a hamper and exercise (nevermind that I biked 18 miles the weekend before) and that I was sure to get diabetes. Just a matter of time. If I didn't have it already. (I don't. Already went through that rabbit hole in January.) And I just want to yell "F**K OFF" to these people.
So hopefully the report will come back clean . . . and it's just a allergic reaction to a bug bite . . . and I will stop all the drugs and stop feeling like I drank paint thinner and be able to take a normal poop. I miss pooping. Never thought I would. And don't think too hard about what I do instead of pooping.
Okay, I have to go eat. Just in case they keep me for another five hours. I'm bringing a sweatshirt (sooo cold when they shoot saline through your veins), knitting (although I can't move one of my arms, but I figured I'd try), water (so thirsty all the time), a book and a bad attitude. Wish me luck . . .
The DPW told me to park on a side street, but they ticket on side streets after 2 a.m. . . . and it's a giant pain in the ass.
I'm going to the infectious disease center to hopefully find out what I have and to see a real live doctor . . . I have a migraine and I'm afraid to take anything, lest thinning my blood more. They poked me three times yesterday, four times the day before. Let's see if we can go for five today.
So I'm cranky. Very, very cranky. I want off the drugs. They aren't making me better. And due to the nature of antibiotics, I'm not sure that I can safely stop the drugs. Also, if I get something else . . . say, a sinus infection . . . now that I have the strongest antibiotics in my system, what do I do next? And I'm still in pain and I'm realizing that no one cares about that. They just see pain as part of the business. And if I catch something else from all these old people coughing and oozing and bleeding . . .
I should have just taken the oral antibiotic from the crazy lady that wouldn't spend more than five seconds with me. Because much like an Alice in Wonderland adventure, the deeper I get into this the weirder and worse it gets. The last doctor basically took a long time to tell me that I was dirty and fat. That I should put my clothing in a hamper and exercise (nevermind that I biked 18 miles the weekend before) and that I was sure to get diabetes. Just a matter of time. If I didn't have it already. (I don't. Already went through that rabbit hole in January.) And I just want to yell "F**K OFF" to these people.
So hopefully the report will come back clean . . . and it's just a allergic reaction to a bug bite . . . and I will stop all the drugs and stop feeling like I drank paint thinner and be able to take a normal poop. I miss pooping. Never thought I would. And don't think too hard about what I do instead of pooping.
Okay, I have to go eat. Just in case they keep me for another five hours. I'm bringing a sweatshirt (sooo cold when they shoot saline through your veins), knitting (although I can't move one of my arms, but I figured I'd try), water (so thirsty all the time), a book and a bad attitude. Wish me luck . . .
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
But it Doesn't Feel Like MRSA
I am now on IV antibiotics . . . and they are awaiting another culture and pathology report. Today I was at the infectious disease center for four and a half hours while they pumped me full of a new antibiotic. The strongest they had.
And I keep saying . . . "but this feels different." I think it may a be a reaction to the drugs, as the new lesions on my legs started as bug bites and are completely different from what I went in for originally. And only started when I was on the Cipro. They are red and painful but there is no drainage.
But what the hell do I know? I can move my left leg without pain for the first time since Sunday . . . and I don't know if it's from the antihistamine they gave me to be able to take the antibiotic (pretty bad when they have to dose you with antihistamine, just to put something in your body) or from the antibiotic itself. It's still giant and red.
I feel like the antibiotics are stripping me. I have no energy. I get up, go get the IV, come home, and sleep. Getting up off the couch is a challenge. And then the 4.5 hours in a chair today, next to the bleeding, coughing and oozing. I keep feeling like if I didn't have MRSA to begin with, I may have it before I'm through.
So let's hope the pathology report says I'm clean . . . and I can stop all these drugs . . . and get off the couch to do some fun things this summer.
And I keep saying . . . "but this feels different." I think it may a be a reaction to the drugs, as the new lesions on my legs started as bug bites and are completely different from what I went in for originally. And only started when I was on the Cipro. They are red and painful but there is no drainage.
But what the hell do I know? I can move my left leg without pain for the first time since Sunday . . . and I don't know if it's from the antihistamine they gave me to be able to take the antibiotic (pretty bad when they have to dose you with antihistamine, just to put something in your body) or from the antibiotic itself. It's still giant and red.
I feel like the antibiotics are stripping me. I have no energy. I get up, go get the IV, come home, and sleep. Getting up off the couch is a challenge. And then the 4.5 hours in a chair today, next to the bleeding, coughing and oozing. I keep feeling like if I didn't have MRSA to begin with, I may have it before I'm through.
So let's hope the pathology report says I'm clean . . . and I can stop all these drugs . . . and get off the couch to do some fun things this summer.
Monday, July 07, 2008
The Diagnosis is in!
My diagnosis is in . . . and the whole office goes out to lunch so I have to kill time until 1:15. Seems they want me to come in TODAY, so it can't be good news. And they called promptly . . . I just missed the call because my phone fell, battery sliding underneath the couch, and in my coma-like lethargy I forgot that you can't just put the battery back in . . . you have to then turn on the phone. So until 1:15 . . . I wait. And clean. I'm constantly wiping with Clorox wipes.
I finally got around to reading the pamphlets that accompanies the drugs I am taking. The oral antibiotic I'm taking (and have been taking for a week now) clears up anthrax. It also eats your tendons? Great. But the plague I have is not clearing up.
So . . . no going outside, to avoid bug bites (I think the two current are former mosquito bites) . . . no touching anyone (which has been a bummer) . . . no eating yogurt (messes with the Cipro I'm taking) . . . no scratching or picking at anything (which means zits . . . I don't want this on my face . . . it's bad enough on my legs) . . . and I need new band-aids (I'm fresh out and actually all the ripping three times a day and sometimes more is causing me to bleed)
Okay, it's 1:14. Time to call. Wish me luck!
I finally got around to reading the pamphlets that accompanies the drugs I am taking. The oral antibiotic I'm taking (and have been taking for a week now) clears up anthrax. It also eats your tendons? Great. But the plague I have is not clearing up.
So . . . no going outside, to avoid bug bites (I think the two current are former mosquito bites) . . . no touching anyone (which has been a bummer) . . . no eating yogurt (messes with the Cipro I'm taking) . . . no scratching or picking at anything (which means zits . . . I don't want this on my face . . . it's bad enough on my legs) . . . and I need new band-aids (I'm fresh out and actually all the ripping three times a day and sometimes more is causing me to bleed)
Okay, it's 1:14. Time to call. Wish me luck!
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Broken . . . with Gaping Wounds
"You're going to be fine!" the doctor kept exclaiming, which is leading me to believe that she was totally freaked. The abscess had already burst, just due to its placement on my hip, right where my leg bends. So every time I move, especially to lift myself into the jeep, pressure is applied. Wearing underwear is an unique accomplishment at this point.
So now I have this gaping pus filled hole. And this is somehow much more comfortable than the oozing sore of yesterday. I'm on antibiotics, have special compresses and some sort of cream. The biggest difficulty is getting the bandages on and off, which is supposed to happen three to four times a day. Except for the doctor muttering "looks like MRSA", it was a good outcome.
"Looks like MRSA" . . . freaks everyone out. "So are you quarantined?" SM asked. Princess has decided that we may just go to different movie theaters and call each other to talk about the movie. My father so lovingly pointed out that it is again a holiday weekend, as did the doctor. Evidently, once I get the diagnosis on Thursday, I will have to go to the emergency room if it is MRSA. I don't know why . . . perhaps for IV antibiotics?
I call the doctor today. Go back next week.
And I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that I may have also broken my foot. Not that I can do anything about it now . . . as it happened on Friday. But it feels like I'm walking on a ball. A ball of soreness, below my fourth toe. So maybe I'll mention that when I go to the emergency room. Maybe get a set of x-rays with my IV.
Not that I'm going to the emergency room . . . cause I'm going to be fine . . . the doctor said so.
So now I have this gaping pus filled hole. And this is somehow much more comfortable than the oozing sore of yesterday. I'm on antibiotics, have special compresses and some sort of cream. The biggest difficulty is getting the bandages on and off, which is supposed to happen three to four times a day. Except for the doctor muttering "looks like MRSA", it was a good outcome.
"Looks like MRSA" . . . freaks everyone out. "So are you quarantined?" SM asked. Princess has decided that we may just go to different movie theaters and call each other to talk about the movie. My father so lovingly pointed out that it is again a holiday weekend, as did the doctor. Evidently, once I get the diagnosis on Thursday, I will have to go to the emergency room if it is MRSA. I don't know why . . . perhaps for IV antibiotics?
I call the doctor today. Go back next week.
And I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that I may have also broken my foot. Not that I can do anything about it now . . . as it happened on Friday. But it feels like I'm walking on a ball. A ball of soreness, below my fourth toe. So maybe I'll mention that when I go to the emergency room. Maybe get a set of x-rays with my IV.
Not that I'm going to the emergency room . . . cause I'm going to be fine . . . the doctor said so.
Monday, June 30, 2008
I'm Just a Little Black Rain Cloud . . . Edit
Freaking out about things I cannot control:
I think I have MRSA . . . I thought originally that it was a spider bite but am now coming to the realization that something is terribly wrong. And getting an appointment with a dermatologist during the summer? Well, I'm finding it a lot like dating in your late thirties. I probably should just go to the emergency room, but I finally have an appointment at 1:30 tomorrow with a doctor that is farther away than I'd like.
My brain is on "what-if" overload . . . plus "you should've" looping . . . and there is no point. What will happen, will happen. So no use in "going to happen". And certainly no use in the Crabbypants pessimism that my brain seems to enjoy. This happens once a month. Go clean your dining room. If he likes some other woman . . . well . . . you found this one, you will find another . . . get over your trust issues . . .
Interesting that I can get this worked up in less that 48 hours. It is getting my dining room cleaned however.Oh, and the MRSA thing? It really hurts.
I think I have MRSA . . . I thought originally that it was a spider bite but am now coming to the realization that something is terribly wrong. And getting an appointment with a dermatologist during the summer? Well, I'm finding it a lot like dating in your late thirties. I probably should just go to the emergency room, but I finally have an appointment at 1:30 tomorrow with a doctor that is farther away than I'd like.
My brain is on "what-if" overload . . . plus "you should've" looping . . . and there is no point. What will happen, will happen. So no use in "going to happen". And certainly no use in the Crabbypants pessimism that my brain seems to enjoy. This happens once a month. Go clean your dining room. If he likes some other woman . . . well . . . you found this one, you will find another . . . get over your trust issues . . .
Interesting that I can get this worked up in less that 48 hours. It is getting my dining room cleaned however.Oh, and the MRSA thing? It really hurts.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
No Really, It was Tasty
Last night (and yesterday, I guess, there was some prep) I made flank steak with chimichurri sauce, roasted sweet potatoes and green beans with blue cheese. Served with a rather good bottle of wine, considering what I paid for it.
AND I didn't follow the recipe for the chimichurri sauce . . . I kind of combined three, as all the recipes I looked at were completely different so I figured that it didn't really matter.
I ended up with . . .
one cup cilantro (packed) from my front porch . . . I mostly took out the stems, which I didn't really have to do
2 cloves of garlic, minced . . . the least amount in any of the recipes I looked at . . . one had 8 to 10 heads . . . not cloves, heads
6 tablespoons and a splash balsamic vinegar
1/2 cup olive oil
1/4 teaspoon salt
some pepper . . . looked like a half teaspoon
some red pepper flakes . . . was shooting for 3/4 of a teaspoon
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
It was enough to marinate the steak and still have some left over in a custard cup. Very tangy. The sweet potato I "brushed" with olive oil (dumped in a bowl and tossed) and then sprinkled with salt and pepper. I think one of the vegetables I bought, thinking it was a sweet potato was actually jicama, as it looked exactly like a yam until I cut it . . . and then it was white. I cooked it anyway, thinking that I had green beans as a backup. And we threw away most of the white stuff (SM doesn't like sweet potatoes anyhow, so it was just enough). The green beans I steamed and then mixed with butter and lime juice, with blue cheese crumbles on the side. The wine was Columbia Crest, Two Vines, Vineyard 10 from Washington State, which I believe I paid under $10.00 for at the Holiday Markup.
And it was a very "homemaker"y day . . . got up early, made the sauce . . . did laundry, made an apron, watched Martha Stewart while sewing, vacuumed, cleaned the tub, made some more food and had to time everything to 7 pm.
And after dinner . . . SM was bemused by the fact that I was excited that I had made a whole dinner that was somewhat edible, if not tasty.
I so want a dishwasher and a dining room now.
Oh, and a moth flew out of my closet and now I'm panicking about all things yarn related. May have to freeze everything . . . which will mean that I have to go out and buy a freezer.
AND I didn't follow the recipe for the chimichurri sauce . . . I kind of combined three, as all the recipes I looked at were completely different so I figured that it didn't really matter.
I ended up with . . .
one cup cilantro (packed) from my front porch . . . I mostly took out the stems, which I didn't really have to do
2 cloves of garlic, minced . . . the least amount in any of the recipes I looked at . . . one had 8 to 10 heads . . . not cloves, heads
6 tablespoons and a splash balsamic vinegar
1/2 cup olive oil
1/4 teaspoon salt
some pepper . . . looked like a half teaspoon
some red pepper flakes . . . was shooting for 3/4 of a teaspoon
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
It was enough to marinate the steak and still have some left over in a custard cup. Very tangy. The sweet potato I "brushed" with olive oil (dumped in a bowl and tossed) and then sprinkled with salt and pepper. I think one of the vegetables I bought, thinking it was a sweet potato was actually jicama, as it looked exactly like a yam until I cut it . . . and then it was white. I cooked it anyway, thinking that I had green beans as a backup. And we threw away most of the white stuff (SM doesn't like sweet potatoes anyhow, so it was just enough). The green beans I steamed and then mixed with butter and lime juice, with blue cheese crumbles on the side. The wine was Columbia Crest, Two Vines, Vineyard 10 from Washington State, which I believe I paid under $10.00 for at the Holiday Markup.
And it was a very "homemaker"y day . . . got up early, made the sauce . . . did laundry, made an apron, watched Martha Stewart while sewing, vacuumed, cleaned the tub, made some more food and had to time everything to 7 pm.
And after dinner . . . SM was bemused by the fact that I was excited that I had made a whole dinner that was somewhat edible, if not tasty.
I so want a dishwasher and a dining room now.
Oh, and a moth flew out of my closet and now I'm panicking about all things yarn related. May have to freeze everything . . . which will mean that I have to go out and buy a freezer.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Summer Day Eight
I was going to ride my bike to lunch . . . earlier but I got distracted by the new David Sedaris book that threw me down on the couch and made me read it. And now it is "scattered thunderstorm"ing, which doesn't look all that scattered on the radar map.
And this whole everybody is working, or on their honeymoon, or in G.R. thing is kinda sucky. I haven't talked to SM in two whole days and there is so much to tell . . . going to Sonic and the inside of my jeep getting all wet, the Capital Grille, the family pictures (which did turn out swell . . . been thinking of posting one or two . . . have a whole CD . . . and it seems so naughty and illegal and all) and I have to remind myself that just recently I did not talk to SM for a whole ten days and I did not turn to dust. Or lose my mind. Or anything of that sort.
So I have to go eat something . . . and then I have to go to the store and get things, so that I do not have to leave the house to eat when it is raining. Such burdens I have.
And this whole everybody is working, or on their honeymoon, or in G.R. thing is kinda sucky. I haven't talked to SM in two whole days and there is so much to tell . . . going to Sonic and the inside of my jeep getting all wet, the Capital Grille, the family pictures (which did turn out swell . . . been thinking of posting one or two . . . have a whole CD . . . and it seems so naughty and illegal and all) and I have to remind myself that just recently I did not talk to SM for a whole ten days and I did not turn to dust. Or lose my mind. Or anything of that sort.
So I have to go eat something . . . and then I have to go to the store and get things, so that I do not have to leave the house to eat when it is raining. Such burdens I have.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Happy Anniversary!
It's my parents' fortieth wedding anniversary today . . .
And I personally think that ANYONE who can make it work with another person for forty years deserves our respect and admiration.
Heck, I was with all of my family for 16 hours and granted, on a full night of sleep I would probably been fine, but there was a point that I was going to kill my sister . . . and other points where I wanted to kill my youngest brother. So for forty years my parents have been together AND dealt with the four of us knuckleheads.
And there has been no killing.
So congratulations to my parents. Let's hope for forty more.
And I personally think that ANYONE who can make it work with another person for forty years deserves our respect and admiration.
Heck, I was with all of my family for 16 hours and granted, on a full night of sleep I would probably been fine, but there was a point that I was going to kill my sister . . . and other points where I wanted to kill my youngest brother. So for forty years my parents have been together AND dealt with the four of us knuckleheads.
And there has been no killing.
So congratulations to my parents. Let's hope for forty more.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Summer Day Four
Am up again at 6:30 . . . and will try to stay up.
Must:
Find wedding gift for Mary. Get wrapped if possible.
Find Damn family shirt. Perhaps mother has it. I couldn't have throw it out.
Go get manicure and pedicure at new place. Douglas J Aveda institute. Liked the fact that it's a snazzy cosmetology school . . . don't like the fact that their menu is confusing. Am I getting the "focus" pedicure or the "elemental"? Why is the combo deal more than the items individually?
Pick up prodigal son from airport. Give him Neon. Plan lunch for tomorrow.
Find time to pick up prodigal son.
Find YMCA card.
Pick an outfit for family picture. (every time I say that I think of the twiddlebugs and "THE FAMILY CAR!)
Find shoes, purse and underthings to go with dress for wedding.
Redo hair.
Now must shower and find coffee.
Must:
Find wedding gift for Mary. Get wrapped if possible.
Find Damn family shirt. Perhaps mother has it. I couldn't have throw it out.
Go get manicure and pedicure at new place. Douglas J Aveda institute. Liked the fact that it's a snazzy cosmetology school . . . don't like the fact that their menu is confusing. Am I getting the "focus" pedicure or the "elemental"? Why is the combo deal more than the items individually?
Pick up prodigal son from airport. Give him Neon. Plan lunch for tomorrow.
Find time to pick up prodigal son.
Find YMCA card.
Pick an outfit for family picture. (every time I say that I think of the twiddlebugs and "THE FAMILY CAR!)
Find shoes, purse and underthings to go with dress for wedding.
Redo hair.
Now must shower and find coffee.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
On the Third Day of Summer . . .
Pilates in the morning. I showed up for the wrong class. My class is at 9:15 a.m. and I barely made the 10 a.m. class. Wednesday mornings are not going to be fun.
Came up and got my bike. Biked to the Starbucks next to the allergist's office and then went and got my shots. Rode to downtown Birmingham and realized several things. 1. There are NO bike racks in B'ham. Even at the bike shop, which of course, I pointed out to them.
"You have no bike rack."
"What? No. We don't have a bike rack. Not outside. No."
"But you are a bike store."
"Yeah."
"I rode my bike here. Don't you see the irony?"
I don't think he got it, or appreciated the line of questioning.
2. Everything has either closed or moved to not Birmingham. Perhaps it's the economy. Perhaps people drove the rents up too high. Don't know. But there is no place to shop.
3. No one looks for bikes. My mother was right. I do need to wear a helmet. At one point I screamed in sheer terror as a Ford truck decided to back into me. I need to buy a cooler helmet. With stickers or something.
Now I am very hungry.
Came up and got my bike. Biked to the Starbucks next to the allergist's office and then went and got my shots. Rode to downtown Birmingham and realized several things. 1. There are NO bike racks in B'ham. Even at the bike shop, which of course, I pointed out to them.
"You have no bike rack."
"What? No. We don't have a bike rack. Not outside. No."
"But you are a bike store."
"Yeah."
"I rode my bike here. Don't you see the irony?"
I don't think he got it, or appreciated the line of questioning.
2. Everything has either closed or moved to not Birmingham. Perhaps it's the economy. Perhaps people drove the rents up too high. Don't know. But there is no place to shop.
3. No one looks for bikes. My mother was right. I do need to wear a helmet. At one point I screamed in sheer terror as a Ford truck decided to back into me. I need to buy a cooler helmet. With stickers or something.
Now I am very hungry.
And I have no idea where that damn family shirt is . . .
Second Day of Summer
Cleaned the gutters and mowed the lawn.
Shared some nachos with QO and pawned off some herbs on him. Now someone else must find things to do with basil. Mu hahahaha. (it's supposed to be an evil laugh, mom)
SM doesn't own a drill?
Shared some nachos with QO and pawned off some herbs on him. Now someone else must find things to do with basil. Mu hahahaha. (it's supposed to be an evil laugh, mom)
SM doesn't own a drill?
Monday, June 16, 2008
First Day of Summer
First day of summer . . .
I awoke at 6:47 am to the sound of diggers. They were moving rocks today so the soft sounds of a granite avalanche was my morning greeting. Luckily, I managed to go back to sleep.
Got up around 9:30 after watching some morning news . . . an interview with Tim Russert's son. Perused the internet and marthastewart.com for some cilantro recipes. Salad Dressing and fajita marinade . . . that's all cilantro makes. And I have bunches of it. So if anyone wants/needs/desires cilantro OR basil (I have a lot of basil) come get some from my porch. I'll just assume the rabbits ate it. Little patience problem with the growing things from seeds . . . I planted a bunch . . . and waited . . . and assumed they were dead. So then I bought a bunch of herbs when I went to flower day. Now . . . too many herbs. Herbs all over the place.
Biked to Royal Oak, had coffee, read the paper and then went shopping for hair dye. There were an amazing amount of people in Noir Leather for a Monday morning(ish) . . . an older man that kept coming in and out . . . a hetero couple looking at boots . . . a male couple trying on skirts . . . more people than I've seen in Noir in twenty years. AND the salesperson was helpful, friendly, and even smiled. It was like I was in a time warp. Went with Special Effects "devilish" for the "patch" as Princess has named it.
Then did general shopping . . . Lotus, American Apparel (do I really want to pay $40 for this cotton skirt?), the shoe stores, Poppy beauty bar (going out of business . . . everything 40% off). I made an appointment at Douglas J, just to try it out. Really wondered why they were having a gay pride festival on a Monday. Turns out they were filming a movie. And I missed it.
Biked to Habermans and picked out all the patterns I want to make. Then went to Holiday. Shopping on a bike is hard because you have to select things carefully. Holiday Mark-up does have a bike rack, however. And turns out they still have me on record, so I don't need a holiday card . . . thank goodness for phone numbers that you can keep forever.
Went to SM's to make dinner and watch Antiques Roadshow. Dinner seemed to take a long time . . . and I made mojitos while realizing that everything I really needed to make mojitos (muddler, lime squeezer) was in the pile of "Emily droppings" that had to go with me the last time I was over at SM's.
All in all, a great day.
I awoke at 6:47 am to the sound of diggers. They were moving rocks today so the soft sounds of a granite avalanche was my morning greeting. Luckily, I managed to go back to sleep.
Got up around 9:30 after watching some morning news . . . an interview with Tim Russert's son. Perused the internet and marthastewart.com for some cilantro recipes. Salad Dressing and fajita marinade . . . that's all cilantro makes. And I have bunches of it. So if anyone wants/needs/desires cilantro OR basil (I have a lot of basil) come get some from my porch. I'll just assume the rabbits ate it. Little patience problem with the growing things from seeds . . . I planted a bunch . . . and waited . . . and assumed they were dead. So then I bought a bunch of herbs when I went to flower day. Now . . . too many herbs. Herbs all over the place.
Biked to Royal Oak, had coffee, read the paper and then went shopping for hair dye. There were an amazing amount of people in Noir Leather for a Monday morning(ish) . . . an older man that kept coming in and out . . . a hetero couple looking at boots . . . a male couple trying on skirts . . . more people than I've seen in Noir in twenty years. AND the salesperson was helpful, friendly, and even smiled. It was like I was in a time warp. Went with Special Effects "devilish" for the "patch" as Princess has named it.
Then did general shopping . . . Lotus, American Apparel (do I really want to pay $40 for this cotton skirt?), the shoe stores, Poppy beauty bar (going out of business . . . everything 40% off). I made an appointment at Douglas J, just to try it out. Really wondered why they were having a gay pride festival on a Monday. Turns out they were filming a movie. And I missed it.
Biked to Habermans and picked out all the patterns I want to make. Then went to Holiday. Shopping on a bike is hard because you have to select things carefully. Holiday Mark-up does have a bike rack, however. And turns out they still have me on record, so I don't need a holiday card . . . thank goodness for phone numbers that you can keep forever.
Went to SM's to make dinner and watch Antiques Roadshow. Dinner seemed to take a long time . . . and I made mojitos while realizing that everything I really needed to make mojitos (muddler, lime squeezer) was in the pile of "Emily droppings" that had to go with me the last time I was over at SM's.
All in all, a great day.
Monday, June 09, 2008
So Much to Not Talk About
Before I get to the theme . . . I will be in a dunk tank tomorrow. No one is sure what time this will happen (otherwise, I would invite all of you) and things are so seemingly disorganized that I'm not sure there will actually be a dunk tank (so . . . do the kids just attack me with squirt guns?) but yes, I volunteered for something. And now, unfortunately, have to do it.
Okay. Now to the "meat" of this blog . . .
I haven't been writing of late. It's not that I don't have things to say. I have plenty o' that. But when splashing your life up on the Internet, you tend to take some people with you. And those people? Most of them don't want their lives splashed on the Internet . . . or they would have blogs themselves. And most people don't really want their lives interpreted by a slightly crazy woman ("You're more kooky? But really, kooky isn't the right word . . .") and then laid out for the world to see.
And the people that I KNOW love me? Well, those are the stories I write about . . . because, while my mother might get a bit miffed, she still has to keep me. And Princess? Perhaps she takes the any publicity is good publicity approach.
But right now, well . . . I'm superstitious about this thing . . . but not everyone appreciates pieces of their lives available to every cpu with a modem in the world. And so things like "great mozzarella debate" go untold . . . because it's too important to me right now.
Okay, I've already said too much.
And so rather than my blogs saying "Ummmmm . . . I made some spicy shrimp today." I've been silent. Although, I was left alone and did make the shrimp too spicy. And I didn't skewer them right. According to my mother, I am the only person in the world who doesn't know that you have to stick TWO skewers through the shrimp. So I reminded her that I was raised by someone with a Master's degree in Food Science, which is why I don't know anything about food. Because she was so sick of food by the time she was done that we only ate cereal . . . and rice. So I only know how to make cereal. Open box. Eat. Close box if you don't want Dad to yell about staleness. Unless it's a cereal that Dad doesn't eat.
Mr. Crabbypants also has this thing about the freshness of saltines . . . but perhaps I will leave that so I will have something to write about tomorrow.
Anyhow. Summer is coming. I don't know how many adventures I can write about. I'll try to come up with something. Maybe I'll turn this into a photo blog or something.
First up . . . pictures of dunk tank.
Okay. Now to the "meat" of this blog . . .
I haven't been writing of late. It's not that I don't have things to say. I have plenty o' that. But when splashing your life up on the Internet, you tend to take some people with you. And those people? Most of them don't want their lives splashed on the Internet . . . or they would have blogs themselves. And most people don't really want their lives interpreted by a slightly crazy woman ("You're more kooky? But really, kooky isn't the right word . . .") and then laid out for the world to see.
And the people that I KNOW love me? Well, those are the stories I write about . . . because, while my mother might get a bit miffed, she still has to keep me. And Princess? Perhaps she takes the any publicity is good publicity approach.
But right now, well . . . I'm superstitious about this thing . . . but not everyone appreciates pieces of their lives available to every cpu with a modem in the world. And so things like "great mozzarella debate" go untold . . . because it's too important to me right now.
Okay, I've already said too much.
And so rather than my blogs saying "Ummmmm . . . I made some spicy shrimp today." I've been silent. Although, I was left alone and did make the shrimp too spicy. And I didn't skewer them right. According to my mother, I am the only person in the world who doesn't know that you have to stick TWO skewers through the shrimp. So I reminded her that I was raised by someone with a Master's degree in Food Science, which is why I don't know anything about food. Because she was so sick of food by the time she was done that we only ate cereal . . . and rice. So I only know how to make cereal. Open box. Eat. Close box if you don't want Dad to yell about staleness. Unless it's a cereal that Dad doesn't eat.
Mr. Crabbypants also has this thing about the freshness of saltines . . . but perhaps I will leave that so I will have something to write about tomorrow.
Anyhow. Summer is coming. I don't know how many adventures I can write about. I'll try to come up with something. Maybe I'll turn this into a photo blog or something.
First up . . . pictures of dunk tank.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Six Days
Graduation is over . . . without incident. The crazy parent calls about the yearbook have longer spans between. Summer is almost here.
I'm going to "Senior Party" in an hour. Leave my air conditioned house to go to a large industrial brick heat sink? Of course. I'll take twenty pictures and leave. Shame that I can't ride my bike there.
I have a lot to do in the next six days . . . so much so, that my stomach tightens if I think about it. The clean up has already started at school, but things have gotten out of hand so it may take longer this year. And my house needs work. Weeding and gutter cleaning mostly. But then there are the big projects. Oh, and I broke a window the other day (and my mother is going to read this . . . and is freaking out . . . right about . . . now) so now I need to fix that or get new windows. Or some tape.
I'll probably go with the tape option really.
I'm going to "Senior Party" in an hour. Leave my air conditioned house to go to a large industrial brick heat sink? Of course. I'll take twenty pictures and leave. Shame that I can't ride my bike there.
I have a lot to do in the next six days . . . so much so, that my stomach tightens if I think about it. The clean up has already started at school, but things have gotten out of hand so it may take longer this year. And my house needs work. Weeding and gutter cleaning mostly. But then there are the big projects. Oh, and I broke a window the other day (and my mother is going to read this . . . and is freaking out . . . right about . . . now) so now I need to fix that or get new windows. Or some tape.
I'll probably go with the tape option really.
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