Hello, dearies! I'm so pleased to visit with you again, though it must be a draft and dash. Contrary to popular belief (Pool boy, my left stiletto; there's only the gardener on alternate Thursdays!), I've had a very good reason to be away---I'm in recovery from a rather nasty run-in with a spider.
How does one deal with pain? By writing through it, often with careful misdirection by means of humor. It can be a way of looking on the bright side of things, such as the fact that a nasty flesh wound on the leg gives one a perfect excuse to wear a flowing, non-chafing sarong. With that in mind, here is my woeful tale.
THE BOOK OF LOXOSCELES
In the beginning was the recluse bite. It was red and angry, and gave rise to many symptoms, of which great pain was one. And the patient went therefore unto the physician and said, "Lo, this sucketh heartily." The physician agreed, and gave unto the patient acetaminophen, and it was ... meh.
After many days, the bite waxed yet more painful, and great blisters of blood appeared, and the patient went again unto the physician and said, "Behold, the suckage has grown worse, and I fear that I shall find myself up the excremental tributary without adequate means of propulsion ere long. Give thou to me some relief." And the physician agreed, and gave unto the patient high-grade pharmaceuticals. And the patient went home and took the pharmaceuticals, and spent many hours smiling beatifically and eating chocolate cake, and she sat in a chair and stirred not for quite some time.
And when the pharmaceuticals wore off, the patient said unto herself, "Verily, this is not a help, for I have shit to do." And she gazed upon the blistered redness of the spider bite and beheld that it had begun to weep blood, and she said unto the weeping blood, "Ew." And giving thanks unto her personal fashion sense that prevented her from wearing white raiment, the patient went before the Cabinet of Requirement and retrieved sundry bandages and Telfa pads, and dressed the wound.
And when, during the course of that day, the patient saw that the protection of the bandages provided great relief from the rubbing of cloth against the poisoned skin, she discarded her pills and ice packs, and put on clothes, and ventured forth with only a slight limp. And she went yet again unto the physician, and said, "See thou, I am but a two or three on thy pain scale now." And the physician saw, and sang praises, and sent unto the insurance company a large bill.
The patient returned home for more cake, and there was much rejoicing.
How does one deal with pain? By writing through it, often with careful misdirection by means of humor. It can be a way of looking on the bright side of things, such as the fact that a nasty flesh wound on the leg gives one a perfect excuse to wear a flowing, non-chafing sarong. With that in mind, here is my woeful tale.
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| Image courtesy of Medical News Today |
THE BOOK OF LOXOSCELES
In the beginning was the recluse bite. It was red and angry, and gave rise to many symptoms, of which great pain was one. And the patient went therefore unto the physician and said, "Lo, this sucketh heartily." The physician agreed, and gave unto the patient acetaminophen, and it was ... meh.
After many days, the bite waxed yet more painful, and great blisters of blood appeared, and the patient went again unto the physician and said, "Behold, the suckage has grown worse, and I fear that I shall find myself up the excremental tributary without adequate means of propulsion ere long. Give thou to me some relief." And the physician agreed, and gave unto the patient high-grade pharmaceuticals. And the patient went home and took the pharmaceuticals, and spent many hours smiling beatifically and eating chocolate cake, and she sat in a chair and stirred not for quite some time.
And when the pharmaceuticals wore off, the patient said unto herself, "Verily, this is not a help, for I have shit to do." And she gazed upon the blistered redness of the spider bite and beheld that it had begun to weep blood, and she said unto the weeping blood, "Ew." And giving thanks unto her personal fashion sense that prevented her from wearing white raiment, the patient went before the Cabinet of Requirement and retrieved sundry bandages and Telfa pads, and dressed the wound.
And when, during the course of that day, the patient saw that the protection of the bandages provided great relief from the rubbing of cloth against the poisoned skin, she discarded her pills and ice packs, and put on clothes, and ventured forth with only a slight limp. And she went yet again unto the physician, and said, "See thou, I am but a two or three on thy pain scale now." And the physician saw, and sang praises, and sent unto the insurance company a large bill.
The patient returned home for more cake, and there was much rejoicing.
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| The Style Maven, who absolutely, positively, does NOT have a pool (she can't even swim), has been spending most of the past several months heavily involved with the medical community, and hopes to be back with you soon. The gardener says 'hi'. |
LOL! Great way to deal with pain. And I love your alternative nouns! :-)
ReplyDeleteI love that you found the humor in such a miserable experience. Your summer is going like mine, but I’m still trying to laugh about it. I’ve been down for weeks with a leg injury that got infected, followed by lots of delightful medication side effects. A few days ago, I too abandoned all the meds and am now relying on neosporin and ice packs. Hope Autumn is more productive and less medically oriented for both of us!
ReplyDeleteWow, what a great way to deal with an obviously painful and aggravating spider attack. I'll admit to laughing a bit...in spite of my horror of spiders (even the harmless kind). I hope your recovery is swift and the attack totally covered by your insurance.
ReplyDeleteThis: "Verily, this is not a help, for I have shit to do." LOL.
ReplyDeleteWhat a fun post. Obviously, not for you, but we all got a chuckle out of reading it.
ReplyDeleteHumor is often the best way to deal with pain and other challenged in life. My husband and I sprinkled it liberally over our brood of five kids. In fact, my first writing gig was a humor column for a suburban newspaper. I wrote to avoid psychiatric treatment.
Yikes! Recluse bites can be fatal. I recently read about a youngster who was bitten by one of those nasty little arachnids. His mother took him to the doctor when the spot on his leg didn't heal, and his experience was much like yours--with one exception. He died. The doctor did not listen to Mama, who begged him to check her little boy for a bite (the medical diagnosis for the ugly, weeping wound was cancer). No matter how often she shared her concerns, he didn't listen, and he didn't check. Dr. Know-It-All didn't know it all after all. I'm certainly glad your outcome was more positive.
ReplyDeleteThat sad (and preventable) story aside, I love the post, the presentation, and the bits of humor with which you shared your experience. We've missed you and are so glad you were able to stop by for a visit.
P.S. Several years ago, my daughter suffered a brown recluse bite. A family friend apparently had some experience with such things told her he could neutralize the poison with electricity. Although somewhat dubious, she agreed to let him hook up jumper cables to his car battery and shock the wound. However, he neglected to tell her not to lean against the metal fender of the car during the process. She got quite the jolt. Later, she did go to the doctor to be sure she wouldn't have any side effects from the poison, and the doctor agreed with the effective "treatment" her friend had administered. However, it was not the same kind she would have received had she gone to the ER.