Wednesday, June 26, 2019

and whilst the neck doth fester...

Things got achier and slightly feverish again right before I went to sleep last night (well, technically, this morning). I felt betrayed because I had taken my third hit of medicine only a few hours before hitting the sack. Why were things worsening? Getting to sleep proved to be a chore, so I wrote my review of "First Reformed" and did eventually get to sleep.

Woke up feeling fine. More than fine. Felt the back of my neck: no apparent change in the size (or itchiness) of the swelling. But there was no fever, and I was mentally focused—a fact that was far more important to me than any fever. (I'm beginning to think that one of the scariest human experiences must be the gradual or sudden loss of one's faculties. It's going to happen to me someday, and I hope Bill Cosby is right that, when it happens, I won't know it.) I took the first of my final three packets of medicine, showered, then set to clipping my toenails.

Normally, clipping my toenails isn't something I'd bother to blog about, but today was a big day: the second toenail on my right foot, which had been looking deadish for more than a month, lifted off without a word of complaint, apparently having decided that today would be the day it gave up the ghost. Underneath the now-departed nail was a field of unpleasant-looking brown; I tore out one of my antibacterial wipes and went to town, clearing away as much of the discoloration as possible. I saw that a new toenail had already begun growing in place of the dead nail; death makes way for new life. There it was: a universal law playing out on the tip of my Morton's toe.

Working on my old and new toenails made me slightly late for work. Luckily, I have some comp time to my name, so that's not tragic. Neck-wise, I'm feeling more or less fine; we'll see how tonight goes. Tomorrow, I visit the skin clinic again, and I'll probably end up with another prescription to get me through the weekend. Feels a bit like visiting a drug dealer.

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