My third lesson in as many days: Just when you think things are going well, they aren't. Yesterday was Saturday. The cat bite was a day-and-a-half old, and I thought I was better, though I was enormously draggy in the morning. I attributed it to too much sleep (trying to compensate for lost sleep) and maybe a tad too much wine the night before. Did the grocery/hardware/etc. trip, ate lunch, worked, had a nap, and then geared myself up and went back to the ER alone. (Jordan later demanded, "Why didn't you wait for me?" and has made me promise she can go next time, for which I am most grateful.) What had been a not-too-bad hour-and-a-half visit the night of the bite turned into a five-and-a-half-hour ordeal (I read an entire Robert Parker mystery cover to cover). Mosstly I sat and waited, but there was the moment the doctor said, "Hmmm. [Why do even the young ones say that?] I thought so. It's infected. We'll do blood work, and if your white count is high, we'll keep you." I wanted to shout, "No, no, I have other things to do, other places to go." They gave me an IV drip, and finally I had to call to a nurse walking by and tell her the IV was done and could someone please unhook me. She did, the doctor said I was free to go but come back Monday, and I got home at 9 p.m. So much for the lovely piece of salmon I'd bought for supper--I scrambled a couple of eggs, answered a few phone calls and went to bed.
Today, Sunday, I'm in low gear. I think the infection is better--hand is swollen but not as much and not as hot as yesterday. I feel ok but the actual wound is still VERY ugly. And the directons they sent home with me gave me my first real scare. So I did a few things around the house--and discovered that made my hand swell, so I've been at my desk. My mom used to say everything has a silver lining--this one has been thatI've worked on the novel. Made drastic changes that set me back some in terms of chapers finished but are, in the long run, for the better.
And now for a nap. We'll see what tomorrow brings.
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