… finally. Relief from the cat-bite infection, which turned into cellulitis around the bites and along my shinbone to the ankle. Blessed relief from the 100-degree-plus, week-and-a-half-long heat wave (today it barely topped 80 degrees). Relief from repeated runs to the VA medical center for emergency care, from the hospital stay, and from follow-up appointments. Relief from IV needles, blood draws for tests and cultures, and blood pressure cuffs.
And, best of all, relief from worry.
Today, the infection is but a tiny glimmer of its former bad ‘ol self. The punctures have completely scabbed over and are drying up, and the angry redness under and around them, while still present, shrinks smaller and smaller each day. There is absolutely no pain any longer, even when I press down near the wounds or along my shinbone. The huge needle-caused bruises on my inner arms are fading slowly. And instead of feeling like my get-up-and-go got up and went, I feel normal. Not trembly. Not low. Normal.
As Martha Stewart used to say, “this is a Good Thing.”
Of course, my RA hands and bursitis hips are back to their normal, too, which is stiff and twingy and achy. Hey, no prob. I can take it. But I still think it’s amazing how the body can abandon its usual joint-and-bursae-bullying to wage war in earnest against a real enemy. I’m thankful that it does, too.
And I’ve learned another thing about fighting off a serious infection while being 55 years old and immuno-suppressed: don’t think you can just hop up and resume your normal routine after three days in a hospital bed connected to IV antibiotics. It’ll take you another week to recover from such feather-headed foolheartiness.
I’m going to try shopping and cooking for my aunt and uncle again tomorrow. I think I’ve rested and healed long enough this time.