Tuesday, October 03, 2006
I finally visited a doctor about my foot. Apparently, the gigantic blister that formed several weeks ago, popped, and has begun to heal, instigated under the skin an infection that I have been walking upon for at least two weeks. With no hint of sarcasm in his voice, the doctor (Doctor Villareal) asked, "Have you looked at your foot?"
He left the room to find a suitable needle (my foot hurt too badly for me to hop down and run away), but the pus had congealed so thickly that he found it necessary to go back for a scalpel. Doctor Villareal warned beforehand, "Try not to scream: it disturbs the other patients," which assuredly did not becalm my nerves. I ignored this advice, anyhow, for when the squeezing began, boy, did I ever shriek! I nearly fainted with pain and had to request a breather. I must have made the doctor nervous, because he quit before he had squeezed absolutely everything out.
Afterward Doctor Villareal prescribed Keflex, then added, "Would you need painkillers?" I actually hesitated in my response (cost the consideration in the back of my mind), for I am a Spartan, but I definitely filled the prescription and in the eighteen hours since have found said painkillers most helpful. The label claims they are twice refillable before March twenty-first (perhaps I won't have to worry about paying tuition after all!). I cannot ride my bike, which is probably for the best, because the medications did make me light-headed as I straightened my hair this morning; I had to sit down on the toilet (I shower at the rec center) for a few minutes to keep from fainting.
My foot hurts.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 10:07 AM]