I am going to tell you - but first let advise you that as a tattoo artist, I ask you to please continue getting YOUR shins tattooed so that I may not be both legless AND poor(er).
K, so where did I leave off on this journey?
Oh yeah, I was literally dying. I lost 3 full days of my life and treated my poor boyfriend like a whipping boy. He works at 8AM each day. I honest to god, could not get out of bed by myself. He would help me to the washroom and then I would use my office chair like a walker and manage to get myself to the couch. The couch is where I would then wait for him to come home for lunch so that I could use the washroom again because I had had so many drinks to keep myself hydrated and in a wealth of tears.
I cannot say that I have ever felt sadder. My leg swole so much that I couldn't put my foot on the floor. Today I am at the 9 day mark. Two days ago I had to go to a Dr. This is how that went:
I am at the walk in clinic. Everyone is staring at me because I am wearing capri tights in the dead of winter and mostly just because I am wearing god. damn. capri's. People are commenting on my lovely tattoo. People are idiots. I have to keep making laps of the Rexall drugs because I cannot sit for too long and I cannot stand for too long. I am clearly portraying a strung-out-tattooed-capri-wearing-loser.
Thankfully, I got to see a Dr much quicker than I thought I would. When he came in I was squirming about in the chair as I had been sitting in it longer then my leg wished I were. The Dr. was a big, farmer looking man. Maybe 60. Maybe devoute. Maybe couldn't care less if I were actually dying (I was. Trust me.)
He took one quick look at my leg and said, "Ya, that's infected. I will prescribe you some antibiotics."
I am allergic to antibiotics. All of them. All of the ones you would have orally.
I tell him this. He clearly doesn't believe me as he asks how I can be allergic to them. He gets quite huffy at this point and keeps squirming in his seat which unfortunately is staring at me. (omg mooseknuckle. :|)
The Dr gets up, walks out and is gone for a few minutes. When he comes back he shoves a paper at me and says use this and hope it works and then he motions to leave.
I struggle to stand and literally had to demand to know what he had even given me. What do I do with it? Where does it go? How often? What if I am allergic to it? What then? He says to use it three times a day and if it gets worse PleaAsSeeEEeeee come back.
Here is a photo of my leg while I was sitting in the clinic. Note the missing chunks. Those chunks are there thanks to NOT WEARING CAPRIS.
What a rad time I had there. What a lovely place. I am so happy my leg is so infected that I am going to die. I am so LUCKY.
Those were all my passive aggressive thoughts. I currently still have them if we are being honest. I am a super happy person (mostly) and I've never been so down.
Here is my leg after a day of Bactroban cream used 3 times as directed.
My co-workers keep saying I will be quite cool with a peg leg but I am TERRIFIED OF AMPUTATIONS. So all I can do is agree. Yes I am disgusting. Yes my leg is gross. Yes I am silly and should have stopped and not used a freezing agent full of epi. But what can I do?
I guess what I am doing is being "the hard way". I am doing this the hard way so you don't have to throat punch your best friend because she accidentally hit your open leg wound. I am doing this, documenting this, showing you this, so you don't have to - or if you're reading this in a panic, you know what to do.
I am riding this roller coaster of one second being able to get to the washroom unassisted and the next crying on the floor because I couldn't make it the extra step to the bed.
I don't know what's going to happen next because I have never had this happened to me. Thankfully, I am fortunate to be surrounded by a so many people who have been quite nice as well as so many kind souls offering to cut it off for me.