Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Okay, personal update time. Let's start with the leg, shall we?
I was planning to make this post sooner, but my combination of laziness and embarrassment has pushed it out to now. About three weeks ago now (see previous sentence), I went back to the dermatologist for a follow up. At that point, I still had no idea what had caused the infection; the best guess I had heard was when Shellswick suggested that it was due to a spider bite, which sounded logical to me, especially when a spider the size of a Yugo came brazenly strolling through the living room. After sending the little fucker to a grisly fate, I reluctantly collected the carcass in a Ziploc and stuck it away, in case the dermatologist was able to do some CSI mojo on it.
Well, the dermatologist figured it out. He didn't even need to see the spider. You know what caused the leg infection that's plagued me for two months, and put a damper on our weekend in Victoria?
Athlete's foot.
I've got itchy toes and callused, cracked heels, something Shellswick has been bugging me about for years, especially when they scratch her at night. Whatever bacteria got into me found its ingress through the small cracks in my heels.
I'm not the heroic survivor of a vicious attack by slavering arachnids. I'm the guy who missed a week of work due to athlete's foot.
The dermatologist did do a bit of CSI-ing to figure it out; I had always worn shorts to my previous doctor appointments, so they could get to it easily without me having to doff my trousers (though it didn't matter much when the other doctor decided to check me for jock itch; there are very few contexts where one WANTS to be told "spread your cheeks"). This time, though, I went before work, so I wore jeans. When I was taking off my shoes, one sock slipped down, and that's when he thought to ask if I'd ever had athlete's foot. That's some Grissom-worthy work right there.
So now I have three different greasy substances I have to smear on my lower extremities; one for around the toes, one to soften the heels, and one to rub on the infected area twice a day. In addition to using baby powder in my socks and alternating different pairs of shoes every day. Thank god the jock itch didn't last long and I don't have to keep using THAT cream.
The leg's almost better, and by next week I'm confident I'll be able to start wearing shorts, as long as the weather keeps up. The only problem now (apart from all the aforementioned unguents) is that gigantuous spider carcass I saved. I, um...can't remember where I left it. I really should try to take care of that before Shelly gets here, because if she opens a drawer and there's a dead spider big enough to eat a golden retriever, I don't think she'd see the humor in it.
NEXT: Where the hell is my wife, already?
Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen
I was planning to make this post sooner, but my combination of laziness and embarrassment has pushed it out to now. About three weeks ago now (see previous sentence), I went back to the dermatologist for a follow up. At that point, I still had no idea what had caused the infection; the best guess I had heard was when Shellswick suggested that it was due to a spider bite, which sounded logical to me, especially when a spider the size of a Yugo came brazenly strolling through the living room. After sending the little fucker to a grisly fate, I reluctantly collected the carcass in a Ziploc and stuck it away, in case the dermatologist was able to do some CSI mojo on it.
Well, the dermatologist figured it out. He didn't even need to see the spider. You know what caused the leg infection that's plagued me for two months, and put a damper on our weekend in Victoria?
Athlete's foot.
I've got itchy toes and callused, cracked heels, something Shellswick has been bugging me about for years, especially when they scratch her at night. Whatever bacteria got into me found its ingress through the small cracks in my heels.
I'm not the heroic survivor of a vicious attack by slavering arachnids. I'm the guy who missed a week of work due to athlete's foot.
The dermatologist did do a bit of CSI-ing to figure it out; I had always worn shorts to my previous doctor appointments, so they could get to it easily without me having to doff my trousers (though it didn't matter much when the other doctor decided to check me for jock itch; there are very few contexts where one WANTS to be told "spread your cheeks"). This time, though, I went before work, so I wore jeans. When I was taking off my shoes, one sock slipped down, and that's when he thought to ask if I'd ever had athlete's foot. That's some Grissom-worthy work right there.
So now I have three different greasy substances I have to smear on my lower extremities; one for around the toes, one to soften the heels, and one to rub on the infected area twice a day. In addition to using baby powder in my socks and alternating different pairs of shoes every day. Thank god the jock itch didn't last long and I don't have to keep using THAT cream.
The leg's almost better, and by next week I'm confident I'll be able to start wearing shorts, as long as the weather keeps up. The only problem now (apart from all the aforementioned unguents) is that gigantuous spider carcass I saved. I, um...can't remember where I left it. I really should try to take care of that before Shelly gets here, because if she opens a drawer and there's a dead spider big enough to eat a golden retriever, I don't think she'd see the humor in it.
NEXT: Where the hell is my wife, already?
Copyright 2004 Rich Bowen
