The holidays always remind me of one thing…MRSA.
Yes, my fine-fellowed friends, MRSA.
It was a cold November day when I looked down at my thigh and saw a red oblong blotch.
This worried me…I was perturbed…and being too afraid to Google image “Red oblong blotch on upper thigh that hurts like a bitch when I move” I went to the next best scientific thing…my friends.
“Stop being a pussy, it’s just a spider bite… “
…It wasn’t.
I think I went about two days dragging my thigh along, because at this point walking properly required a constant look of “Why yes, I am getting an enema shoved up my ass at this very moment. Good day to you!”
When I showed my parents “it”, “it” had now spread from my upper thigh, down to an inch above my knee.
“Well shit…this is not good.”
“Wait…it’s not just a spider bite?”
So like every normal family, the day before Thanksgiving started with an emergency trip to the hospital, followed by a doctor running out and screaming bloody murder at the sight of my “spider bite” but of course not before he could say…
“You have 24 hours to live if these antibiotics don’t work.”
…and finished off with a tall, cool, Oreo McFlurry.
My parents thought I was 5 and thought ice cream would temporarily distract me from the eminent danger I was so knowingly in.
…It worked.
“Now, listen, your doctor said we need to put an extremely hot washcloth on the opening to bring the infection away from your knee joint immediately, okay?”
“You know Oreo Mcflurry’s are the best. So smooth and refreshing, with the prefect blend of choco flakes and vanilla fro-yo…it’s a beautiful union really.”
Now here’s the thing…my mother didn’t understand the difference between hot…and scalding…or she did but she wan hoping the ridiculous amount of drugs they put me on would take the edge off.
…They didn’t.
Next thing I know, I’m screaming in agony as the scalding wash cloth slowly seared off my skin…
“Shit! Damn! Fuck! Holy fucking Jesus.”
“Natalie…stop being a pussy.”
After seven hours of this personal hell, it was time to go to bed and dream about turkey legs… stuffing…not having my leg amputated…
“Hey Nat, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just worried about losing my leg.”
“Really, cause I’m worried about you dying…good night.”
…I cried all night.
Oh, and I didn’t die…just in case if you were wondering…
