It started on Thursday with pins and needles stabbing my upper back. Every whisper and creep of fabric brought torture. Something was wrong with my skin. I blamed Walmart for the cheap detergent. Those bastards.
I should probably mention that while I have no fear of doctors, I have no love for them, either. I've nurtured a high pain threshold since childhood ( it runs in the family), so I tend to give minor ailments a while to work themselves out.
By Friday the pain had spread to my chest and arms. Same M.O.: clothing was killing me, but I'd moved on to hidden molds and bacteria as the root of the problem. I cursed the bathtub (and Walmart).
By Saturday, my entire torso was consumed by the fiery sensitivity from Hell. And yes, I do mean my entire torso. Yeah yeah, the dirty bits, too. I blamed nerve damage. Meningitis. Skin Cancer. Walmart.
I woke on Sunday with an odd throbbing in my thighs. My ass screamed as though I'd ridden the Tour de France. The skin pain spread. I remembered a medical factoid. The largest organ in the body? The skin. I'd seen it stripped off a human at The Bodies exhibit. It laid there on lucite; in one piece. I wondered if it was sensitive. I wished someone would strip mine.
I made the mistake of visiting WebMD. Hell, I like to self diagnose. Why not supplant my pain with paralyzing fear of the actual possibilities. I put in my symptoms:
• skin irritation and pain
• no visible rash
• tenderness of the genitals (this is a horror tale)
• pain during urination (see?)
Their program listed out 20 possibilities most of them std's, which is impossible because (1) I'm faithful, (2) my wife and I are always together, and (3) I'm a clean freak. I settled on Cellulitis, an infection of the skin and soft tissues, that can spread throughout the body through the blood stream. My favorite bit: if left untreated can lead to a need for surgical intervention.
Goddamn You Sam Walton!!!
It's Monday. The cellulitis (I'm sure now) has made it to the pads of my feet and it's painful to walk. I've had to break down; I called the doctor, the one I haven't seen in fifteen years. After much rigmarole and a thorough tongue lashing by the insurance lady, I scheduled an appointment.
11:30 is coming quick.
Pray to your Gods. Wish. Ponder "The Secret". Burn down your local Walmart. Whatever it takes to get your faithful blogger through this time of exaggerated crisis.