Our vacation was finally over. It was time to pack the stuff up and head home. It’s always the worst part about vacation, too. Especially when you’re renting a house for the week. Packing all your crap back up, just to take it back home to unload all over again. But, c’est la vie.
After a relatively uneventful ride home, we began the arduous process of putting everything back to it’s rightful home. During the proceedings, I noticed a blister on the back of my ankle. How the hell I got a blister there, I have no idea. It’s not as if I was wearing new shoes or anything. But it was irritating the hell out of me. So, I did what any red blooded American does. I popped the blister.
Of course it hurt like a mother after, but I’ve got four kids. I thrive on pain! I eat that shit for breakfast! So, I band aided it up, and went on living my life. The end.
Later on that evening, though, it was still bugging the crap out of me. I took off my shoe, pulled off the band aid and the blister had filled back up. What sort of black magic was this?!!?
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So, I did what any red blooded American male does. I complained about it. To anyone who was standing near by. But, no one listened. No one cared. Whatever. So, I popped it again. And let bygones be bygones.
The next morning? It had filled back up. Again.
What kind of blister is this, anyway?!?!?
Again, I complained. And, again, no one listened.
At risk of sounding repetitive, I’m sure you can figure out what I did next.
By Monday morning my ankle had swelled up to twice it’s normal size.
“Well, that ain’t right.” I muttered to no one in particular.
So, I did what any red blooded American does. I self diagnosed myself. Using the internets.
With the fear that not only my life was in jeopardy now, but everyone else’s on the eastern seaboard, I made an appointment to see the doctor. In the meantime, I snapped a pic and sent it to Kelly Marie.
“What the hell is wrong with your foot?” She responded over the phone.
“I dunno. It swelled up.” I said.
“I can see that.” She replied. “How did it happen, thou?”
“I dunno.” I said, marveling at the size my ankle had grown to. “I told you the other day I had a blister.”
I heard her eye roll. “You don’t get that from a blister.”
“No shit.” My turn to eye roll. I was safe. It wasn’t like she could see it. “But, I don’t think it’s a blister. I think it’s a spider bite.”
“Stop rolling your eyes at me.” Kelly Marie said. “Why you think it’s a spider bite?”
“I dunno.” I wasn’t about to tell her I looked it up on the internets. Rule #32 from Jman’s Guide to Getting Thru Life: Never look up a malady/sickness/disease you suspect you might (but don’t ) have on the internets. The internets are not your friend. For porn, yes. For malady/sickness/disease checking…don’t. Ever. “I’ve never had a blister keep filling back up.”
“I really think you should go to the hospital.” She said.
“Yea?” I asked, slightly incredulously. “You think?”
“Yes. I think.”
“I made a doctor’s appointment for later on today, though.”
“I think you should go to the ER, right now.”
“Yea?” Still wondering if she was being serious or not. Well, I knew she was being serious. More wondering if I SHOULD go. Those internet images were still floating around in my head.
Going to the hospital is a pain in the ass, though. “I dunno. Maybe I’ll see if I can get into the doctor’s office earlier.”
“I really think you should go to the ER.”
“Ok. Well, let me call the doc first. I’ll see what they can do. I’ll call you back.”
A few moments later…
“Well?” Kelly Marie answered.
“I’m heading over to the doctor in a bit. They’re gonna take me earlier.”
Ok. Good.” She paused. “Is your ankle inflamed?”
“Hot too the touch?”
“Yea.” I heard her clicking away at her mouse through my Droid phone (nonono. it’s not a Verizon plug. it’s a link to VACATION WEEK! Epilogue 2 Pt 1. In case you missed out why I was using my Droid and not my iPhone).
“Think you’re right. Think it’s a spider bite.” Kelly Marie confirmed.
“You look it up on the internets?”
“Yea. Remember what you’re always telling me, though.”
“I know. I know.” I nodded to the phone. “The internets are not your friend.”
“No. They are definitely not your friend.”
I chuckled. “Guess I’ll find out soon enough.”
Turns out it was a spider bite. I must’ve gotten it somewhere between packing up my vacation in Ocean City, NJ and unpacking back home in Beautiful downtown Ben Salom. The doctor ended up prescribing some super antibiotics and steroids to take for the rest of my days.
You know, you’d think I visited some exotic locations like London, England or Orlando, Florida for me to get a friggin spider bite. But, no. Just a lovely parting gift from Ocean City.