Would you like to stop reading now? Cuz this shizz is gonna get real.
Anywhoozle, I took my bad self into the doctor's office expecting to get a hassle because as of February the clinic had dropped a bunch of patients on my insurance. Thankfully I hadn't been dropped but I didn't expect them to be privy and YET they were and I was supremely impressed by the hassle I.did.not.get.
Then I sat and waited for 35ish minutes playing Trivia Crack (and losing terribly) I tried to play Hayday but it wouldn't load and so back to Trivia Crack I did click!
Then they called me in and I was like whaaa? I expected to be waiting a ton longer and they were like, 'nah we know you're an important person so get on in here.' (This actually didn't even happen. The nurse who called my name was actually kinda drab and boring so I thought I'd spice it up a bit)
She pointed me toward the box of doom . . . aka the scale . . . and every imaginable profanity wanted to emerge from my lips when it read that I weighed 3lbs more than I had that morning when I woke up. Can you believe the nerve of the damn thing?! How dare it tell me how much I weigh?
So after a mini-internal-meltdown the likes of a a Mt. Vesuvius eruption, I
She asks me what the problem is and I go on to tell her all about the volcanic activity just outside my armpit (not to be confused with the volcanic rage I had felt earlier) and she nodded and asked where it was and I widened my eyes because I had just told her it was in my armpit and pulled down the neck of my shirt so she could see the bandaid and she raised her eyebrows and was like, 'Oooooh' . . .
Then the doctor came in and while I feel like they may want to amputate or at least drain the thing he just flippantly says, 'You have cellulitis that seems to be turning into an abcess. It looks a little infected. I'll prescribe you antibiotics." WHAM BAM THANK YOU MA'AM, NOW GET OUT!
That is what it felt like anyway and I felt kinda like a mistress scorned.
So out I went with my little prescription paper and my instructions on how to care for my wanna be abscessed cellulitis and sat down in my car feeling sorry for myself and my pit pain. I pulled out the care instructions and at the bottom it says, "To reduce occurrence take bleach baths 2-3x a week."
Um, he.l.l.o NO!
First off! NO! Second off, bleach on my skin? UM NO! And third, the smell of bleach gives me blinding, debilitating migraines so again NO!
Then I get home and it is all very anticlimatic telling my family that the cysts I've been growing in my armpits are actually an infection of my cells. No one understands that. I don't even understand that. AND I HATE NOT UNDERSTANDING SHIZZ.
So of course I google the death outta cellulitis and then decide not to anymore because OMG BARF!
Then I get an e-mail that the tuition assistance I have applied for is null and void because the girls' school is using a different third party this year! FanFRAKKINGtastic! So I had to jump through flaming hoops of BS and several hundred redial presses to get through to the company and get my refund and then go through the whole application process AGAIN but with the new company. I was particularly appalled that they specifically asked if I was Apostolic. As if that made a difference in the amount of aid I might get. What?! Are Apostolics a new minority or special group who gets more aid than the other masses?
So, here I sit $30 poorer (for the time being) with infected cells waiting for dinner because I am FAMISHED and I could totally eat ALL THE FOODS but I realized that I have been walking like a good girl for 5 days straight on my treadmill and I will not allow that dang scale at the doctor's to turn me against my goals.
I have finished venting now. Time to go get Subway because even though I won't eat all the foods, a girl still has to eat.