Day 92 Sucking in the Whitewash

I was born and raised a Californian, and spent many days in the cold Pacific Ocean.  Large waves, big rocks and sunburned noses filled my teenage years.  I remember the exhilaration of riding those large powerful breakers with nostalgia.  The Gulf Coast with it's sugar sand and warm water do not compare to the savage power of that crushing surf.  If you aren't savvy you might not know to dive through the walls of those blue waves, toward the top so as not to be caught underneath the crush all of that water.

We called it "sucking in the white wash."  When the power and weight of all of that water surging in and returning creates a vortex that forces you down into the white foam near the bottom and tosses you around like a rag doll on spin cycle, helpless to break out until the ocean is merciful and you are surrendered.  Disoriented, you swim like mad to reach the surface before the next wave comes or your breath runs out.

That is how I feel right now.  Several hours after having my drains pulled (the second time was much easier) I started to feel unwell, but drove my daughter anyway to her long delayed hair styling appointment.  It was not long after arriving at the salon that I began to feel seriously sick.  Stupidly I made arrangements for my daughter to get back home and then drove myself back.  I got home safely, but if I had my wits about me I would have made someone come and get me, I do not remember much of that drive.  My temperature upon arrival was 102.8 and rising.

The following saga includes and urgent care center, a stupid doctor, IV for antibiotics and dehydration.  Infection #2, this time it's staph but we're on it from the start.  I feel like garbage and am wiped out, the meds are making me sick, but the fever is gone.  My lungs are screaming as I swim like mad for the surface.

Day 69 Unavoidable Setbacks

I want a beer.  A cold sweaty cocktail would be nice as well.  I could sit, as I used to, on the patio with my husband talking smack about our teenage children.  After a hard day at work we would sip and swat mosquito's while I outlined my plan to sell them both for parts to finance our retirement in Belize.

Sadly, my therapeutic cocktail hours are over since alcohol encourages cancer cells to multiply.  Protein is also on restriction with green vegetable and fruit juices taking a primary role in my diet.  These are the negotiations I am having with my traitorous body:  I stop having fun, you stay healthy and stop making mutant cells.  Fair is fair.

Unfortunately my body is not ready to arbitrate and I have developed infections in both frankenboobies; cellulitis in one and an open hole in the other.  Tomorrow I go back to the doctor with my husband and a packed bag, ready to be admitted.  It might be necessary to install a drain or two, or we might have to remove the expanders all together.  My hope is that he will debride and pack the draining hole and keep me on antibiotics since the cellulitis appears a little better and release us in time for a delicious dinner at P.F. Chang's but I know the chances of that are small.

I hate hospitals and regard them as flesh eating bacteria infused torture chambers. I am not far from wrong.  The idea of spending more time there is freaking me out.  The spectre of medical malfunction is popping out of the closet in my mind, MRSA is the monster under my bed.

Life is a tricky bastard and my body is its minion.  Make me a Margarita and keep them coming.