Love At First Bite?

Ahhhhh - last week. I have (mostly) recovered so I can talk about it now. Let's all imagine getting dressed for work - minimal lighting (that happens when your spouse works second shift and you work first). Such is my life. Every day. So Thursday morning I was getting dressed, spent a few minutes loving up on the dogs and went to brush my teeth. I came back and the blonde dog was asleep on the foot of the bed. I bent down near his face, to put on my shoes-- startled him-- got a bite to the left cheek. Color me unhappy. I mean, I hadn't even had any coffee at this point. We woke up Lefty, who took me to the bathroom and helped me clean my wound and got me out to work with a band-aid on my face (I looked SO classy-- you are jealous!) It was uncomfortable but it wasn't swollen and I took that damn band-aid off in the parking lot of my job.

Fast forward to Friday around noon. I looked like I was getting a hunchback… on my freaking face! It was warm to touch, swollen and red (yes, Black people can have noticeable red skin, silly!) I left work early and my wonderful Lefty got me an appointment with his doctor. I stroll in with my face, which was getting more and more deformed as the moments flew by, while wearing my sock monkey hat-- don't judge me, I was injured. I got weighed (OMG-- trauma to my ego and any mental stability I thought I had) and head over to an exam room. My personality doesn't stop just because I am growing a small midget on the left side of my face, so I chuckled it up with the nurse while we were waiting on the doctor. Lefty's doctor walks in. She is nice… and looks shocked at the growing mound. She asks the story, I tell her. She tells me what I already knew, tetanus shot and some antibiotics. She was so smooth with it though - she kept looking at my face and when she gave me the script for the antibiotics she said "you need to get this filled…as soon as possible when you leave here." That is doctor code for "your shit is really fucked up and you should get these drugs on board ASAP."

I really did not want to get a tetanus shot either. It isn't that I can't get shots, I spent a week in ICU a few years back (shots galore); it really is that I don't WANT to get shots. You would think that with all this technology around here, there would be an easier way to quickly administer drugs. I mean shots? They are so 1890. Or at least that is what I tell myself when I have to get a shot. Ack. Back comes the nurse. I, quickly, tell her that I am not a fan of what she is peddling. I don't want that damn shot. For real. She tells me if it hurts I can punch her. I begin to soften at the idea of getting tortured by the needle. Just kidding-- I am not hitting some random stranger (Read: THIS time). She gives me the shot. Honestly, it really wasn't bad. Sincerely. I still made her give me a Shrek band-aid. And as I was leaving, I totally copped a sticker that says "I was great"… They may never have me in for another appointment again.

If you are reading this and smiling, say a prayer for Lefty. Last weekend was trying for him (not that he would ever say). I am notoriously the WORST patient ever and he was a gem (even for the face leaking pus stage-- you ARE welcome for that imagery). The dog in question: naps frequently, wakes up and wags his tail at me. He takes being relegated to the dog bed as an adventure. He has no worries in the world. Me? I still have a sore cheek. Such is life.