Around about the time I started writing these columns I had a horrible abscess in a very uncomfortable place, ie. an inch from my sack. I don't feel like going back through 14 years of Tales of Unspeakable Taste to find the pieces I wrote about it. Needless to say, it was a harrowing experience, one I would have liked to never experience again.
The abscess didn't come back the very next day, but it did rear its ugly face again. A little while ago I was showering when I felt an odd lump on the inside of my right asscheek, right there in the crack. It was maybe the size of my fingernail. Oh shit. Well, I'm seeing my doctor in a couple of weeks. I'll mention it to him then.
And the fucker grew overnight. I wouldn't say it was as big as a baby's fist, like the first abscess had been, but this one was long and felt kind of like the first two knuckles of my middle finger. Due to my recent ER visits I didn't want to go back there. My hospital was bought out, and I think the new corporate overlords are trying to enshittify it. I hoped my doctor could lance it himself, so I called his office and was told in no uncertain terms that this falls under the purview of the ER.
So I went back, thinking at least it wasn't five yet. Five is when it gets really busy there. But my hopes were dashed immediately when I saw the waiting room was full. So I sat--on my ass, you know, the one with the fucking abscess on it--and waited for hours. They were so busy they put me on the cardiac ward instead.
The doc eventually came in, numbed my butt cheek and cut into the abscess. I could feel his findings dribbling down to the back of my nutsack. I was face down, so at least I was spared the stink, unlike last time. It felt like I lost about fifteen pounds of bloody pus, but when I sat up it looked like a watery blood stain, not nearly as big as I expected. Although it looked like it had gone down the outside of my thigh, too. When you pop an abscess, the rotten pus inside can go a fair distance. I remember the first time I saw bloody pus spots on the ceiling.
Thankfully I had experience, so I knew to wear a pair of boxers that didn't fit that well and a pair of ripped up jeans that I never wear anymore. I don't mean the knees were ripped up. If I wear pants long enough, the crotch eventually tears itself open in little spots. I still wore them because I didn't have a lot of money, but once I ran the risk of my dick poking out I packed them away.
I didn't think about my trench coat, though, nor the seat of my car. I pulled the back of the coat up so it was above my waist, and I had a plastic bag in my console. I usually keep it there for when I go to Sonic because I've never *not* had their bags rip on me. As I type this I sit on another plastic bag to protect my blanket.
(If you ever wondered what I look like when I write these, I'm sitting in bed wearing nothing but my boxers. How's that for a horrifying fuckin' image?)
Today was my day off. Tomorrow I have to go to work with the seat of my pants stained red. I will sit on a plastic bag at my desk. And I will probably be in pain, but lucky me, I held back a few pain pills. Hopefully that will pacify my ass. Literally. Anyway, it should be fun explaining to my coworkers why my pants are stained in such a fashion. Ordinarily I'd have to tell that to just one person, but they canceled work at home last week, so the office will be full tomorrow. Lucky them.
No comments:
Post a Comment