So, I’ve been following Plastic’s orders and what does it get me?  An infection!  My excision site has always been gross looking but now it smells bad and has frequent disgusting drainage.  Great.  As if cancer wasn’t already ugly, now it’s got to involve funk too?

My instinct is that it’s infected, but I have no confirmation of that as of yet.  The dermatologist I saw today had great news for the most part, but also indicated that she also thought the excision site might be infected.  I see Plastic again tomorrow.  UGH.  Really?  Can I have my life back please?  I am way over this.  I have things to do, classes to teach, friends to hang out with, and cocktails to drink.  Oh God…I’m the Chelsea Handler of cancer.  For those of you who don’t know, Chelsea Handler is a comedienne.  She is hilarious, in my humble opinion.  She wrote a book called, “Are You There, Vodka?  It’s Me, Chelsea.”  I haven’t read it, but the title is so appropriate for how I feel right now.  Everything that is wrong with the world because of my cancer can be cured with a cocktail!  Hahaha…seriously, I would enjoy a cocktail right about now.

SO…cut to day two, Plastic confirmed that it is definitely infected.  New antibiotic ointment, plus an oh-so-pleasant chopping of skin, crud, infection, and scab – all without any form of numbing agent and accompanied by the nastiest funk I have ever smelled.  It was completely disgusting, but like a train wreck, I couldn’t look away.

I’m devastated.  I don’t understand how this could happen.  We’ve been doing everything we’re supposed to be doing.  We change the dressing every day, we put the ointment on it – or in the classic comedy stylings of The Hubs, quoting Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs, “it puts the lotion on itself.”  Ok.  I had to laugh at that.  Back from the brink, for now.


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