Pick Me Up

Well, I do have the bad kind of staph; however, thanks to your prayers, all I have to do for now is continue taking my antibiotic and cleaning the area of infection. Now was the operative word. There's a very strong likelihood that more will come back since I have the staph-resistant to antibiotics...so I'm not sure why they're having me continue...but I will leave that decision in their capable hands.

In the meantime I have created a little video pick me up....to boost my spirits and get me thinking about something other than my infirmities.

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

10 Plagues of Egypt

Have you missed me? I’ve definitely missed writing, that’s for sure. But, I’ve been battling some of the plagues of Egypt - - yes, that means more strange ailments have attacked my poor vulnerable still-pudgy body.

As I was sitting in the doctor’s office last week, yet again, I began counting. Of the nine weeks Scarlett has been alive, I’ve been to the doctor 7 times, for mastitis (got that twice), poison oak (false diagnosis), dyshidrotic eczema (still suffering with that almost two months later), and now the abomination of desolations…huge NASTY boils under my armpits AND combined with staph infection. And they’re not yet sure if I have the communal type that is resistant to penicillin. If so, who knows what will happen. I may have to be quarantined. Please, Lord, not that.

So, let me tell you about these boils. I thought it was just an ingrown hair follicle – which it was - - but more like a zit than a boil. The bump kept getting bigger and bigger, so I went to Web Md, where I discovered boils - - nasty and more nasty. I followed the directions for a home remedy. DON’T DO IT. In the meantime, another one was growing right beside it. I properly drained it (TALK ABOUT FOUL) with a needle, and cleaned it as best I could with alcohol and plopped a Band-Aid on top. Only the part above the skin got smaller. It was still huge, and painful, under the skin. Meanwhile #2 was outgrowing the other one.

I finally went to the doctor, and she told me I’d have to have a minor surgical procedure. Reading the paper I had to sign, understanding there was the possibility of further extended infection (could it possibly be worse than what I was feeling), deadness of skin tissue, terrible reaction to the medicine, or finally, death, could imminently occur, I laughed at the irony of this “minor surgical procedure,” and went ahead and carelessly scribbled my name.

Let the games begin.

Only it wasn’t a game, and that needle full of numbing liquid hurt like you know what. I tightened the reign on my flinching and concentrated on making big chomps out of my already tasteless chewing gum.

Within seconds each boil was numb, and I thought the pain was over. Needles don’t bother me, but when, out of the corner of my eye I saw her take out the razor and begin the sawing motion through my skin, I about spit my gum across the room, followed by a very offensive masticated lunch.

I couldn’t feel a thing, for which I was grateful, but my overactive imagination kept running movie reels of the procedure through my mind. Back to chomping the lifeless gum.

I felt blood dripping down my side.

“Oops. I got it on your bra strap.”

To lighten the tenseness of my mood, I put on my game face and borrowed a line from pappy. “That’s okay. There’s more where that came from.” Only he would use the line when someone would take the last glass of Coke or eat the last bowl of Name Brand Sugar Cereal. Brassiere’s, however, are not a dime a dozen, especially nursing ones.

Once she had squeezed the compacted vile contusion of infestation out of the first one, she told me I had done a pretty good job of doctoring myself. The only reason one should go to the doctor for boils is because they have to “pack” them. And then she told me the infestation of bacteria in the boil resembled cottage cheese. I could barely take that in before I was on to my next question.

“So, what exactly is packing?”

She told me, in no uncertain terms that this part of the procedure would hurt like heck. She would take gauze, stringlike, which was coated in an antibiotic, and “pack” it around the inside of boil, leaving the middle part open so it could continue draining and not close up. And, it keeps the boil from coming back again, unlike my home remedies.

Sick. Simply sick. I feel like a dirty unhygienic person. But I do take a shower everyday, I promise.

She drained the second one, and I apologized for forcing this ugliness upon her. But, true to those doctor types, she said she enjoyed cutting boils open, except for the time one was so big it popped open and hit her in the face, close to her eye. (She was not wearing safety goggles – I asked). I then had to admit that when I was draining the first one, I was slightly fascinated by the mixture of blood and pus oozing out like a small river.

Then the “packing” began. All I can say to that is that words escape me. It pinched, it burned, it smarted, it stung, it throbbed. It was simply fraught with pain. They bandaged me up, gave me my prescriptions, and sent me on my merry way.

Tylenol with codeine became my best friend over the weekend…

I know this was a pretty disgusting story, and my sister-in-law is right about me - - I do enjoy a nasty tale or two, but on a serious note, I ask that you would pray for me. Finding out yesterday that I do have staph infection is not cool. No one can get near my armpits (two more boils are forming as I type), I have to wash my clothes separately, use a new washcloth every time I bathe (bye bye loofah), and take all sorts of other precautions, and naturally, as a mom, I’m worried about the babies. Mostly Scarlett because she’s so close to me when I nurse.

Jeff tells me not to worry and I try to think about "being anxious for nothing" but it's hard. All I can think of is the "what ifs."

Happy Early Birthday to Me

For the first time in two years since I made that disastrous decision to chop of my hair, I am cute, DANG cute, if I do say so myself. And you know I’m not vain and I’m my own worst critic.

My sister-in-law (Jeff’s sister, Steffanie) gave me a gift card to Ulta for Christmas. I decided to save it since I had made an unhasty decision to NOT cut my hair until my birthday. Remember, I had to grow out the mushroom headed mullet look from October…which I finally did. (P.S. Taking two Flinstone’s per day really helps grow the hair back fast)

I made an appointment for Saturday since Jeff was taking off most of the day to celebrate my birthday early…it’s technically tomorrow…I get to share it with Super Tuesday; at least this year I didn’t have to share it with the Super Bowl. So, Jeff stayed home with the babies (first time with both of them, mind you).

When I explained to the gal that I wanted the mullet cut off, she understood me immediately…and when she was explaining what she’d do, she’d said she’d cut the “tail” off, I was immediately assured in my decision that at least that horrible part would be gone. Weirdly enough, she didn’t have me facing the mirror, so I had no clue what was going on. It didn’t really matter anyway because as you know, since I get out so rarely by myself, I take the opportunity to make fast friends with whomever I come in contact with. By the end of the haircut, we were BFF, and I had, with little effort, ascertained where she was spiritually…she was a very godly young woman, and we had basically shared our life stories until there was nothing left to tell, from the woes of pregnancy, to the highs of life in Christ.

I decided to get my eyebrows waxed, too, since I had barely even given them a cursory plucking since Scarlett’s birth and the thick unibrow was gaining ground on my face. All in all, I was gettin’ beautified for OVER 2 hours. It was so much fun. I felt like royalty and gave my new BFF a big hug when I left. I probably shocked her, but good night, the sistah had given me a 20% off discount for being a first time customer. The Bargain Shopper Lady would be proud. And I felt truly “cute” for the first time in a LONG time. There’s something to be said for paying someone else to groom you, eh?

When I called Jeff to let him know I was on my way home, he didn’t sound too frantic, though he did wonder if I had gone shopping or something….nope, I was just gettin’ myself de-lovely. And Scarlett had slept the entire time I was gone, so Jeff had an easy daddy day care day.

Here I am with Scarlett and Gideon as we prepared to settle in to watch the Super Bowl with Jeff. Also, that bottle Gideon is so precociously drinking out of - - it’s IBC Cream Soda….just so you know :)

(Oh, and side note: any of you who were reading my brother's blog about Cutter and his high sea adventures, he's written several more chapters -- click on the Hotlanta Chicken link - - and leave comments for him to encourage him to write more)

The slideshow is too big for this web page, so check it out at this link:


Happy Early Birthday to Me