This afternoon, for fun, I had my elbow drained. It really wasn't too bad, and although I am theoretically unopposed to the occasional blood-letting, I think I'll put off my next one for a week or so.
No reason to use up all my fun at once.
(Just in case you were wondering, most of this post will be about my elbow so feel free to abandon ship right now if need be.) (Because, really. IT'S ALL SO RIVETING)
About three weeks ago I noticed that my left elbow was extremely sensitive. Until your elbow hurts, you never notice how many times a day it touches things. Or things touch it. Like the wall. Or the table. Or the door handle in the car. After one particularly nasty encounter with the edge of a bar stool I was almost tempted to poke my own eye out from the pain, but after a little intense contemplation I chose the agony of elbow pain over, you know, losing my eyesight.
Who said I wasn't a rational kind of girl?
Anyway, after about 4 or 5 days of contact pain, everything seemed to clear up and and it looked like I was once again basking in the glow of elbow normalcy.
Until 4 days ago when a bulging golf ball-sized pocket of fluid formed.
It was as lovely as it sounds.
The crowning glory was the bright redness and the burning sensation. It felt hot to the touch. In true sensible form I just decided that I'd have to stick with the 3/4 length sleeve for a while and I believe at one point I may have said something equally sensible like "why couldn't this blasted thing show up on my arm in winter? it would be so much more convenient, not to mention fashion friendly".
Luckily God spoke to me in a dream (or maybe it was The Chief) and said "get thee to the doctor".
Thus the draining. And the horse-sized antibiotics.
And the Tasmanian Devil band-aid.
I may never take it off.