I've written in the past that I would be taking a blog break. Many of those, I broke my word mere hours afterwards. Except, this time, I mean it.
I'm not using medical terms, because they can either sound scarier to non-medical people or make what you have trivial to the medical people. Knowing that, let me describe why I don't want to write here until these bacteria decide to leave my nose alone or until said bacteria die a horrible death due to the three antibiotics swirling around in my blood.
I don't know how this occurred, and really, do we want to know? (Yes, but only to have it not happen again.) The left side of my nose is red, swollen, and almost as painful as the back labor I experienced with my first baby. The swelling is extending to below my left eye. My face is lopsided. A friend's daughter (in her five year old glory) decided to call me Rudolph. I wanted to cry.
In fact, because the first antibiotic did not work, I have anxiety about this infection, if that is what it is. My heart races. Tears teeter on my lashes about once an hour. I called my mother and cried, begging her to come help. The last time I cried each time I looked at my face was at the age of 12, when I had chicken pox. The lesions covered my skin, my throat, and four very prominent ones settled beside each eyebrow, my cheek, and my chin. Seeing those buggers launched me into a fit of crying. It wasn't about vanity; those things on my face looked wrong.
Like now. If I were an alcoholic, think W.C. Fields, my red, bulbous nose wouldn't be out of place. However, this aberration of a smelling organ needs to return to normal by Thursday. If it isn't getting smaller, if my condition worsens, it's hospital land for me. You'll have to excuse me for a bit so that I spend every crazy, non-TV moment with my children.