I was SUPPOSED to go up to San Francisco to meet one of my internet sheroes, the lovely Jennifer from Textile Fetish. Instead I had to call her and cancel because I seem to have developed an infection in one of my appendectomy incisions, even though it’s already healed. The advice nurse said I MUST be seen, TODAY. So, I’m off to the emergency room, where I bet anyone fifty bux that I will have to wait until tomorrow to be seen. I’m not being sarcastic, either. I’ve waited there for over twelve hours before, and once saw a man who came in with his severed finger in a fast food cup of ice wait at least four hours to be seen. He kept the cup in the windowsill, where the finger stewed in the melted ice water.
Every time I looked in his direction, I gagged a little.
Anyway, I’d much rather go hang out with Jennifer. Am feeling bummed and ill and crabby. Will be back with at least one entertaining story to share. If nothing else, I’ll finish reading Eat, Pray, Love.
Well, now. I’m back, hours earlier than I expected, with antibiotics, advice to "take it easy," (uh, okay. sure.) and orders to put a hot compress on my incision site for a half hour every two hours. Like breastfeeding, but without the baby, the poop or the nursing bras. The doctor who saw me AFTER THEY PULLED ME FROM THE ER AND SNUCK ME INTO URGENT CARE (I am still feeling shock over this) said that one of my internal stitches probably decided to get all festery instead of just giving it up and dissolving like it should. So, get this: I am to put hot compresses on it until all the gunk drains out of it, even though it’s already healed over. Ewww. "You’ll probably see the thread come out!" she told me. And, weirdo that I am, the idea of that both sickens and fascinates me. I’m the one who will peel your sunburned skin off your back (but, seriously, don’t let that happen — use sunscreen!) and if I love you I will pop your zits. But, at the same time, if there is hair in my food I will throw up, and sometimes, just seeing a hair not attached to anything will set my gag reflexes off.
So, I’m not going to be able to deliver a story, unless you count the gossip I heard from the woman who worked at urgent care about what a bitch the emergency room manager is.
On my way out of the hospital, I got a good shot of a long, empty hallway with my cell phone camera. Now I need to figure out how I’m going to get the picture from the phone to my computer. That ought to keep me busy for a while.