Risky Blogness

I am literally risking my life by writing this blog post. That is not a lie, but surely an exaggeration. My wife has told me a million zillion times not to exaggerate. How am I supposed to write this blog if I don’t? But I am under doctor’s orders to not travel (business trip canceled), do not exert myself (what I do best), don’t type (you, the reader, would surely benefit) and see him 2 more times after already seeing him 2 times since Monday. People may soon start to talk. And it all stems from waking up to this on Tuesday …

Hand1

Unfortunately, that was my right hand and not a lobster claw from the freezer. Quite frankly, the picture doesn’t really do justice to how swollen, red, hot, and painful it was. I had watched enough episodes of Monsters Inside Me to recognize that there was probably something growing in my hand.

Monsters inside me

I did not want to end up looking like this …

Monsters inside me face

except of course for having more hair than I do now, and I wasn’t quite sure how I liked the nickname of Lefty, so I saw my doctor. He immediately threatened to put me in the hospital. I had a fundraiser to MC that night, and the guy that would have helped me out was going to miss the fundraiser due to a death in his family. Whatever happened to “the show must go on?” So I negotiated a deal with my doctor. He would give me a massive shot of antibiotics, I would rest, and then we would see the next day if there was any improvement. And Trump calls himself a dealmaker. Ha!

Just like Trump with the TPP, Paris Climate Accord and Iran Nuclear Deal, I broke the deal. Unlike Trump, I did it secretly. I didn’t rest. I went to my fundraiser. Because of people eating at the fundraiser, my lobster claw hand was well-wrapped in a bandage. In case it swelled too big and exploded, no dinners would be adversely affected.

Hand2

Going to the fundraiser wasn’t the smartest thing to do, and by the end of the evening my hand was sore and I was running a fever. Uh-oh. But the hand looked slightly better by morning and my doc was pleased enough with the progress the next day to order another painful shot of antibiotics in the ass for me. Gee, thanks.

My daughter did ask if the lines my doctor drew on my hand were where he was planning to amputate.

Hand3

Thankfully not. Fortunately, it doesn’t look like amputation will be necessary, but I am not supposed to be typing now, so we’ll see if I can tempt fate for another day. Who knows, I may be back blogging soon asking you readers for a hand, literally. My daughter who was pushing me down the amputation path did suggest that a hook would look real cool.

hook

On second thought, maybe that’s enough typing for the day.

 

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