Her: It looks worse, you should go see a doctor.
Me: Nah, I’ll be fine.
Wonder how many people died saying those as their last words.
Been going to the gym like crazy cause summer’s usually my slow time and I wanna get in as much gym time as possible before things start getting mad busy. So I was rolling with my buddy Car when we got onto the topic of MRSA (pronounced “mer-suh”). If you don’t know what that is, do NOT google it, instead, just believe me when I tell you that it’s gross and deadly. I’m a germaphobe by nature – to the point that no less than a dozen people remarked why I’d wrestle since that’s so unlike me. Which goes to show, that as much as I hate touching stuff, hate not knowing stuff even more.
Feara ignorance > OCD hand-washing.
In any case, had just shaved earlier that week and rolled and had gotten some razor burn. After a week, it started looking bad. Like real bad. After HG put her foot down, went to the local medi-merge where the lady doc walked into the room, took one look at me, and said, “You’ve got staph, man.” It wasn’t MRSA – thankfully – but it was something dangerous and gross. She gave me some meds and told me to go home and shave, which I did for the first time.
Lemme tell you: (a) it was insanely painful and (b) it far worse than I thought.
Killed all of my weekend plans. A weeka antibiotics later, about 90% back to normal.
The psychological scars’re gonna take a bit to get over though.
Cause the world limits me enough; don’t need to do it to myself.
So Thursday, back in the gym.
Course, gonna be covered in plastic wrap from head-to-toe but that’s really neither here nor there.