Last night, I noticed that the top incision of my port had a small red circle around it. This morning, that circle is darker. Almost constant burning and sharp, knife life pains. Very warm to the touch, temperature of 99.3 F. Now I know why it's been bothering me so much lately. I know what this is, but I need to go to work. Is it bad enough to warrant a trip to Urgent Care this morning? No, I don't think so. Let's just watch it through the day.
Huh! It's about 2 in the afternoon, and it's now an angry red bar that extends in both directions beyond that incision. I'm probably at my lowest blood counts sometime between yesterday and today. Not the time to be messing with infections.
Let's go visit Urgent Care--again! It's okay. This needs to be seen. I think they might give me a shot of antibiotics to kick start the fight and a prescription to take at home. I tell Dale my self prescription on the way over.
Yup, infection. Yup, nasty stinging, thick injection. (I need to figure out what that thing is. Second time I've needed one in the last few years.) Yup, prescription. Hmmm. I am pretty good at this--at least with my own body. And a prescription for a sleeping aid, only 30 pills, and only for when I know I'll need it. It's what we got with the last occurrence, and it really helped.
It's still early in the evening. "Want to head to the cell phone store?" Dale inquires. His phone is almost dead. He can hear callers only when he puts them on speakerphone. Annoying! I hate that place, but how can I deny him when he's been so good to me?
Add our name to the list. We're sixth. Oh joy! Takes them 35 minutes to call our names. Is that supposed to be good customer service? They know it's a problem, so why don't they fix it? Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. At first, to avoid those stupid monthly data charges, we thought Dale should get just a basic phone and then an iPod Touch to record calendar items, scriptures, ward directories, etc. I know he's going to hate juggling two devices though. I think it's time for a smart phone, love.
Another 35 minutes goes by while the salesman leads him through the options. I don't even care any more. I just want to go home. My neck now stings and burns from the infection even when I'm sitting or standing still and moving about kills it. I'm so miserable.
Damages come to $241 something for the phone, with a $30 monthly charge to boot. I'm in a dark spot in my head. To my horror, I'm voicing my thoughts out loud to Dale. Let me get this straight. I get cancer. Get an infection. Get an injection. Get a prescription. I'm the one with the job. And you get a new toy that's going to cost us $600 over the next year?
OUCH! Why, Trish, do you get in these dark funks and, more importantly, why don't you learn to edit yourself when you do? Some thoughts we have should never, ever be spoken out loud. I'm immediately mad at myself and apologize over and over to Dale, but the damage is already done. Darn!
I feel awful--both the way I treated my eternal companion and for the way my neck is. I slump into our couch with a heating pad to try and find some relief and the TV remote is poised. Please help me forget reality for a while.
The Crawley's are at the door with an arm full of exquisitely colored lavender tulips and--even more precious--hand made cards by the boys. I'm choked up. How do I warrant such generosity today? Only because I can repent for my foolish and natural ways and resolve to make tomorrow a better day. Thank you for that gift and hope, my Savior!
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