By the Numbers: F-word. Yuck. Home on a Thursday night.

Thursdays are my nights out.  On Thursdays I get to let my hair down, take a break, have a nice quiet dinner in an awesome little cafe and then hang out with friends reading and writing poetry and listening to music. Usually.

Tonight is not one of those Thursday nights. Tonight I got home early, on this holiday weekend, armed with antibiotics to fight off this annoying infected spot on my abdomen. I made the mistake of waiting just a little too long to change my infusion site and BAM! painful raised hot red bump pays me a visit. It is hauntingly reminiscent of the gross back thing I had a few years ago, and I REALLY hope these antibiotics do the trick. Gross back thing required surgery and a drainage tube.  But not before a stupid doctor gave me a cortisone shot that didn’t work and another stupid ER doctor tried draining it and sending me home on enough percocet to make me pass out (ER doctor ignored the recommendation of the urgent care doctor, who wisely advised me I needed surgery).

Fingers crossed for antibiotics that actually work. Please. Please. Please. Please. Please. I’ve taken my first dose and soaked in a warm tub, per Jane’s (Jane = super awesome diabetes nurse who is retiring this year which makes me sad just to think about) instructions.

Diabetes. Fuck this shit.