When the Body Breaks

Since I've entered my 30's, I've noticed certain physical and mental changes: more grey hairs, less tolerance for the loud, thumpa-thump music blasting from my neighbor's Civic, carbs are harder to burn off, and excessive drinking no longer makes me invincible. It's also way easier to get--and stay--sick.

Recently, I develped a trifeca of bumps and bruises--a ginormous blister on the bottom of my foot, a series of mysterious lumps under my arm, and what appeared to be a bug bite on my left thumb--all of which made me feel like I was 110.

If I were in my 20's, I would've gotten drunk and laughed it off. But now that I'm older and wiser, I did the more responsible thing: got drunk and tried to diagnose myself on WebMd. Ten minutes on the Web site, and I was convinced I had three terminal diseases, poison ivy and diabetes. So, maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

I probably should have just gone to the doctor right away, but I don't have health insurance, so I held out as long as I could. Thankfully, the blister popped and felt better, and the bumps under my arm weren't really causing me any pain, so I thought I'd be ok. Until my left thumb swelled up to five times the size of my right, and I knew I was in trouble.

I caved and went to the doctor, and he took one look at my thumb and told me that he had to cut it open. Fucking ouch. It hurt so much, I cried. The first time I did that in I don't know how long.

The doctor told me I had cellulitis, which I took to mean I was fat, but it's actually a common skin infection that can cause major problems if left untreated. The whole thing has become more of a nuisance, albeit a painful one, than a sickness. Something else to make me paranoid, uneasy. In short: old.