What a strange ten days. During Halloween weekend, I felt a little weak--a not unusual thing--with a slight irritation on side. I had treated this abrasion with Neosporyn and carried on until Monday, when I came down with a fever and took to bed. Meanwhile the irritation had grown. Two days of fever, no appetite, and no sleep took the wind out of me. When I came to my senses on Thursday, the irritation had grown to the size of a baseball of fluid under my skin, was extremely painful, and produced a reddened line that stretch from the belly button to the middle of the back. The mound of fluid made it painful to move, cough, or sleep. By the time I went to a local doctor's office, I was told that my vitals were fine, but that I had an enormous abcess for which they could do nothing. I went home, packed my bags and paperwork, went into the office for a few, painful hours on Saturday, and check myself into the best hospital in town. The doctors were amazed that such a thing had grown so quickly, and I immediately became the oddity of the hospital as every doctor had to come and bring a student to see this.

By this time, I was in too much pain to care. I had had the time to make final arrangements and was rather content that it was in the hands of a power greater than mine and that I would be playing with KiKi soon. Within a few hours of prep and interviews, the operation proceeded at midnight. It entailed a five inch slit, one inch deep for which I was awake for (albeit they have gave me twelve doses of morphine). For three days I endured countless tests to rule out this or that; during this time my temperature and blood pressure were supremely normal, thank God. The stay was not unpleasant; I had my own, private room, the staff was extremely friendly,the food good, and the male nurses to die for.

In the end, they found nothing but that I had picked up an every-day, common staph infection that exists on all surfaces, including the skin. I was told you don't need an open wound for it to enter; it can do that through a hair follicle. Scary. I've always been a little nutty about touching things, especially doorknobs. I was told another person's sweat is your death certificate.

I always carry Purell with me, but am going to add a host of new germ-fighting products to my carry bag. (I've thought for a long time that the re-introduction of the wearing of elegant gloves by both gentlemen and ladies is a look long in coming back in this age of germophobia.)I girl can't be too careful. And a word to the wise: Take precaution: you don't want to go through the pain I just did for someone else's sweat.

I live to roam the earth.