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I was sick last week, well...two weeks ago was when it started, but a week ago was when I realized "Nope, ain't powering through this one." Since my type-I diabetes diagnosis I haven't been as sick as often as I used to get. I suppose that keeping my blood sugar mostly managed and taking my insulin is helping me with that. But last week hit me hard. It was the perfect confluence of events. Being diabetic means I have a compromised immune system, how compromised depends on each individual, but in my case, it doesn't seem to be that bad. I do get sick...just not as often as before. Anyways, perfect storm...about the same time I started getting sick I also got a really nasty ingrown hair (I know, ewwww, suck it up, you're an adult) on my groin. Let me tell you, if you EVER get an ingrown hair (gawd damn it, stay with me. You are a fucking adult!)...just leave it the fuck alone. Don't be all "Oh, I'll just pop this, and it'll get better." It won't. DEATH WILL COME FOR YOU ON HAIRY INFECTED WINGS. It turns out an ingrown hair can get staph...and often does about 30% of the time. Who the fuck knew? As someone who has actually nearly died of septic shock before, I knew I was getting close to actually going septic. There is a kind of feeling, like the world becomes a fever dream, and you're not walking, but floating. The very air you breathe feels like you're sucking it in through a damp lukewarm towel. You feel like you've got oven mitts on, and you can't hold onto anything. Food won't stay down and drinking anything is like ingesting battery acid. It's extremely unpleasant. I think it was Saturday or Sunday when I hit the lowest point. Everything hurt and I just knew I was going to end up in the hospital again. I'm so scared of going back there. I do everything I can to stay healthy. I'm scared of dying. Not because I fear death - I don't. I shook the Reaper's hand and told him "Not Today" so many times during the 216 hours I was in the hospital. I died at least once, and they brought me back (heart stopped). No, I fear death because I have responsibilities. People depend on me and what little money I can scrounge up writing. If I die...what will happen to them? That fear, damn near more than any other drives me to do whatever I have to do to keep my loved ones safe. Luckily, I didn't have to go into the hospital - I had a slight relapse on Monday, which started with a toothache that turned out to be an earache in disguise. By Wednesday, I was feeling like an entirely new person and when Thursday rolled around I knew I had recovered if not fully, then nearly so. Add that to the fact that I got house insurance for my home and hopefully the bank will accept my application and everything is really starting to look up. So let me say, sorry about the absence, I'm back. Hope it doesn't happen again. Stick around for Sunday's post, it ought to be fun. I'll see you folks on the flip side. :-)

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C. R. Rice

January 2017

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