Shoes, Ships, and Sealing Wax

But will I be able to play the piano?

I was trying to think of a funny way to tell this, but I'm really not in a very good mood.

Apparently the doctor hasn't been making me come in every other day because I'm so charming or because he's relying on my $20-a-visit copays to gas up his Escalade. No, he's been watching the infection in my hand. And today he decided that it isn't healing the way he'd like to see it heal.

See, I'm a little taken aback, because I thought I was doing well. I mean, yeah, everything hurt like a mother-shut-yo-mouth, but after just two days of playing "where is pointer" I can almost curl my finger around the steering wheel. And since I didn't have red streaks moving up my arm, and I'm taking a billion milligrams of amoxicillin boosted by the clavulanate and have been since three hours after the bite, I assummed the bacteria hadn't taken hold.

But the fact remains that my finger is fuscia and puffy and warm, and today the doctor recommended surgery.

I'm not into surgery. We made a deal...he took fluid for an actual culture to see what bacteria I'm infected with, and he switched me over to doxycycline (which seems a bit shot-in-the-darkish without the culture). If I'm getting better by Friday all is good.

If I'm not getting better by Friday, he did mention possibly giving me intravenous antibiotics, although that appeals to me only minutely more than having him slice up my hand. The slicing seems to be his preference, and he didn't seem too optimistic about the doxy. I have a feeling I better clear the calender for next week.