Cest la Vie

"Please, tell me it isn't true!"

The doctor just stares at the floor, absently fingering his stethoscope. I get angry.

"Hey! Hello?!" I wave my swollen, infected hand in his face and he recoils in horror.

"Shit, get that infected sack of pus away from me! Yuk!" This is clearly no way for a doctor to speak to his patient and I tell him so. He apologizes. "Oh, yeah, bedside manner, right. Um..sorry." I assume he's new.

By the way, I'm at the doctor because I woke up with a swollen, infected hand. It's red and greenish yellow, the veins standing out and pulsating. With each pulse comes agony. I get the impression that if I hit it too hard on something it'll explode like a fleshy, liquid-filled grenade. I have no idea how it got like this...ok, maybe one idea: the hooker. I swear I felt something bite me when I had my hand up her...um...her area of expertise, shall we say?

Hold on, the doctor is gonna say something....

"Yes, so anyway, I'm sorry, but the hand has to go."

"Well what about antibiotics? Or maybe trying to drain it?" I ask hopefully.

"Yeah, right! I mean, look at that thing! No no, it's gone. Get used to people calling you 'lefty'."

What a dick!

"Dude, you're a dick! What kind of doctor are you?"

"A free one. I can't cut it off here at the clinic, we'll have to schedule an appointment for you at the hospital. I'll be right back." He walks out of the room whistling a happy tune. Asshole. I stare at my hand, the pulsating pus sack, and wonder how I'll get along without it. It's my right hand, the hand I do everything with. Yes, everything, now get your mind out of the gutter. On second thought, leave it there, 'cause I'm headed back to the gutter to find that whore and the thing that bit me.

To be continued....