Friday, November 10, 2017

Leggus Eggus Horribilis

The worst leg egg of my life blossomed on my left thigh and when it reached its zenith it presented as a golf ball sized lump of fluid atop a volcano of inflamed flesh that felt like hard rubber.

I’ve spent all of November off from riding as I waited for it to take its course. I had to give up all notions of modesty—and I feel vulnerable when naked because I am ugly—and let my wife tend to it with efficient ministration.

There was no active penetration; we used a blister-popping agent to with padding to cook it off then absorb the disgusting mix of pus and blood that seeped from within. I could feel it oozing out after the first shower post-pop as I soaked in falling water, the ooze viscous, seeming alive.

It’s taken three days to drain and now I just have a bandaid. But I still can’t ride until it’s completely healed lest I open it up.

At the height of it, because of my aging balls, I had to walk like a gun slinger in a showdown, legs apart with deliberate strides, so my balls didn’t hit the lump or I braced the lump within a fold of PJ pants then took micro steps, the lump facing forward and walking with severe discomfort instead of insane.

It’s amazing how quickly your life contracts when you’re in agony and dealing with a health crisis; you’re just focused on getting through it.

I used to sneer at the phrase “at least you’ve got your health” because I never had it but now I’ve got a re-frame; an experience so much worse than usual that I can now say “at least I don’t have a lump of infected fluid bulging out my leg the slightest touch on which is utter agony”.

So it’s a positive for that. I liken it to the time we owned that duck. It was a nasty chicken rapist and we’re glad to be rid of it. But I got to experience owning a nasty duck and re-framed the experience as “at least we don’t have that sociopathic duck anymore.”

Because it could always be worse than it is—so, for right now, at least I’ve got my health.

WFTW.

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