Soon after awakening, I noticed this weird … stripe … on my forearm. It was brownish. Kind of shiny.
I took a shower and half of it peeled away.
Odd, I thought. Perhaps I should have this checked out.
OK, that’s the varnished version.
Reality: OMG, I have that flesh-eating bacteria thingy-infection! WILL BE DISFIGURED AND POSSIBLY DEAD WITHIN 24 HOURS!!!! HELP ME!!!!
So I called my family physician and made an appointment.
By the time I arrived at work, however, I was having second thoughts.
“What does this look like to you?” I asked my friends Amy and Cindy (Mom on a Wire).
“A burn,” Amy declared. “Did you get drunk and try to curl your hair?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Like, in college.”
Cindy commenced Googling.
“I don’t know, Cathy. Maybe you should keep that appointment. I mean, I don’t want to freak you out, but some staph infections do peel.”
Of course, I then began Googling and promptly diagnosed myself with A.) Scalded-skin staph or B.) Flesh-eating bacterial infection.
The photos were horrifying.
“I’m keeping my appointment,” I informed my friends.
And so at 2 p.m. I was summoned by a nurse back to an exam room.
“So, what seems to be the problem?” she asked.
“This!” I declared, brandishing my arm.
She did not look impressed.
Minutes later, my doctor entered.
He looked at my decaying flesh, then said, “This looks like a burn.”
“But I haven’t burned myself,” I said.
“No, it looks like some sort of friction burn. Like rope. Or, maybe … carpet?”
At this point, most patients would realize that their doctor thinks they’ve been engaging in some sort of S&M sex.
Well, I remained adorably naive. Ha.
“Well, I lug a lot of stuff around. Maybe it was one of my tote bags.”
My doctor looked skeptical.
“Have you been rappelling?” he inquired.
“Of course not!” I replied.
At which point he dropped the subject, slathered my arm in some cream and told me I did not have staph.
Only upon leaving the office did I realize: Ohhhhhh.
My doctor thinks that either A.) Hubs and I are employing rope in our marital bed or B.) We decided to take it to the floor.
Am forever mortified.
Am pretty sure it was my gym bag. But I have to confess to wondering if I’m doing things in my sleep.
2 thoughts on “Am forever humiliated and traumatized”
That’s too funny! I have to share with another friend who also confesses to being a hypochondriac.
Yeah right, keep up with that story!