If the title hasn’t already tipped you off, this week’s been a little “off” for me, and it culminated today in the kind of fucktardery that I’ve come to expect out of my life…which is to say that I don’t ever expect anything to go as planned any more, because it never does.
There are two situations which occurred today that, more or less, have me at kind of a loss, though one’s negative, and the other is positive. Hence the title.
First, the “WHAT THE SHIT”:
As you’ve all known for a while, I’ve been slowly selling off my guns to get money to pay bills, because I’m having a really hard time finding a job.
I’ve been to several interviews, and most recently (as in, yesterday), I was called in to Wright Medical Technology to do an interview for a temp position that was to last at least 90 days.
For those who’ve been reading this blog for a while, I’ve worked at WMT several times in the past as a temp, and they called me back over a series of 4 summers to work for them. I was always at the top of their list of folks to bring in, and I assume I didn’t disappoint, because when my resume was given to them for the position they wanted filled (they use the same temp agency I’d recently re-registered with, which had placed me there in the first place), and I interviewed, it was more of a formality than anything else…I had the position, and was treated like I had it.
I was told to come in on Monday morning at 8am, and BOOM, I felt amazing. For the next 90 days, I would be able to pay my bills and even save some money so that if they didn’t end up keeping me on longer as a temp, or even hiring me full-time, I would have something for the next month or so to tide me over.
I got a call this afternoon from my temp agency saying that WMT had just called her and canceled the position. I understand why, but at the same time? HOLY MOTHER OF GOD. Find SOMETHING for me to do after promising me steady work for the next three months, you know? I get it. The economy’s bad. You know why I get it? Because I’ve not worked anywhere for nearly 2 years.
Fortunately, I suppose, I’m interviewing on Tuesday afternoon for a temp-to-perm position that’s relatively close to where I live…this is through another agency. And I still haven’t heard anything about the position I interviewed for at the University of Memphis, so there’s still some hope there, though it’s pretty minuscule, because I’ve learned over the past few months to stop getting my hopes up…and now you see why.
I’m running out of things to sell. I need a job. And I know it sounds stupid, but I feel a little like I’ve been asked on like, a 5th date by a guy, and he’s called the friend he met me through to tell me that he can’t make it, after all. I love working at WMT, despite the few people there who’ve irritated me…that’ll happen anywhere, especially if you’re me (am I right? I mean, come on). I feel jerked around, though. And really, really, disappointed.
Now for the “I am awesome”:
If you’ve been following my Facebook feed at all, you’ll know that I self-diagnosed a staph infection a couple of days ago. I have several deep abscesses in my right armpit, and have had several blisters that have erupted with almost no prompting. I got it from shaving, and it’s extremely likely that the anti-fungals I’ve been taking for the past two weeks have made my body over-react to the re-introduction of bacteria into my system (through pro-biotics, and the killing off of the yeast), creating an infection where there would ordinarily just be razor burn.
I’ve had a minor case of staph before – in my finger. Remember that, folks? If you don’t, it was about a year ago, in my left ring finger, and it was gross. I took oral antibiotics and had an antibiotic prescription cream for it.
LULZ, my right hand has a similar infection in it now, too…ring finger, outside edge of nail, etc. Hilarious.
So I called the doctor yesterday, and they told me to come in today. Because I’ve felt the abscesses, and they’ve grown, I relayed the info to the doctor and was told to come straight in this morning to have them expressed. If you’re not familiar with the term, it means, “cut the skin and squeeze the nasty shit out of the cavity created by the abscess”. Yum, right? See also: painful.
I wasn’t looking forward to it, but hello, I’m an adult, and a staph infection is nothing to mess with, especially if you have a compromised immune system, as I do. So Forrest took a half-day today to take me in this morning, I put on the hospital gown, and prepared to feel some epic pain.
I even heard discussions in the hallways of where the lidocaine topical numbing agent could be found while we were sitting in there, so my blood pressure was up, and I was kind of freaking out.
Well, what ended up happening made me really glad to not only be a med nerd, but also someone who’s learned to go to the doctor (with some prodding, in this case, by Forrest) as soon as it’s ascertained to be necessary.
I was told that I’d come in early enough that the abscesses would NOT need to be drained, but that I would need to use surgical-grade soap on my pits twice a day, then apply some prescription antibiotic ointment (yes, the same stuff I used on my finger last year) on the area until things clear up. I’m not to wear deodorant, antiperspirant, or anything aside from Gold Bond powder in my pits until the infection goes away, which makes me feel gross, especially since I can’t shave, either, but again – staph is nothing to fuck with.
I was also given the name of a surgeon “just in case” the infection didn’t clear up, but I hope to god I won’t have to use it, for more than one reason (especially now that it’s been revealed to me that I WON’T be getting any money any time soon).
Why do I respond to this situation with “I am awesome”? Because I self-diagnosed something and got myself to the doctor before it got bad enough to require the worst-case scenario treatment. This happens quite a bit, you see, but only because I am, as I said before, a total medical nerd, and I have been since I was very young. If it wasn’t for the fact that my self-diagnoses are always correct (seriously), I wouldn’t even bring it up.
It almost makes up for the fact that I went 13 years before being diagnosed with Lyme.
I’d still like to have that job, though. I’m still irritated as shit about that.
Also, my armpit itches. And I can’t scratch it. Which is driving me nuts. Which isn’t helping my mood. See also: CRANKY.