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Monday, July 14, 2008


The Scary Bump

At some point while we were forced off the usual, safe paths in Central Park this weekend, due to the malevolent presence of Jon Bon Jovi and his evil hordes, something happened to me.

I can't be sure what it was. Medical science (at least, in the person of the doctor who saw me at the walk-in clinic) can't be sure, either. Saturday night, I had a little itchy patch on my elbow. Nothing big, just a little irritation. Thought it was maybe a bug bite.

Yesterday morning, though, it started to bubble a little bit; y'know, in that poison ivy kind of way? As the day progressed, it started to bubble in a not-quite-poison-ivy way. With poison ivy, you get a bunch of little bubbles and they itch quite a bit, right? That's been my poison ivy experience, at any rate.

But this wasn't a lot of little bubbles. It was one great big bubble of skin in the middle of a patch of red which was vaguely in the shape of a humming bird. People at the birthday party at which my wife and I were spending the afternoon seemed close to losing their cake at the sight of it. So I did what I always do when faced with medical uncertainty. I called a friend of ours who's a doctor and hit her up for a free over-the-phone consult. (About which she never complains, by the way. Hopefully, she'll one day have some kind of middle-school-related question that I can answer by way of karmic payback.)

She didn't seem overly worried by the sound of it, which jibed nicely with how I was feeling. So I rubbed some ointment of some kind on there (I didn't really pay attention to what the stuff was, exactly; I just always figure ointment's ointment.)

This morning, though, it was hurting a bit and I was plagued by visions of spontaneous auto-amputation or maybe of some hideous alien creature birthing itself from my arm-skin bubble and wreaking havoc on Manhattan. So I called in sick and jogged down to a walk-in clinic, where some young doctor jabbed a needle in there and drained it. I'd love to give a full report on the stuff that came out, but I averted my eyes so as to keep from puking granola all over the room. Then a nurse put about a gallon of ointment (again, could have been Neosporin, could have been Oil of Olay) on there and slapped a couple of bandages across the now-popped boo-boos. Bandages, I might add, which have been flopping off my arm all day because there's too much ointment on there to let them stick properly.

Damn ointment.

Ew. I'm guess they weren't hives.
That sounds kind of disgusting.
We have no diagnosis? I always appreciate a diagnosis in a post like this.
Without an explanation as to what caused it, you can't be sure it will recur....

Where's House when you need him?
I meant will not recur....

wa waa waaaa

(I am aware of the fac tthat I would be the worst stand-up comic ever, not to mention impersonator. I am mocked by my family for such gifts. That is in itself what I am banking my future middle school math teacher schtick on. Feeble, I know.
I'm very impressed at your ability to use the word "ointment" more than once in the same post. My go-to word for such things is "salve".

When did we become senior citizens?
That's right. "Ointment." I won't put a pretty face on things with your "salve".
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