My in-laws brought dinner last night. Holla! I made Lulu show Shawn and my mother-in-law the "bite" on her knee. The way they both reacted (neither of them being prone to over-reaction... EVER) made me want to flip out just a little bit. Instead. We ate dinner. :-O
But, then Shawn took Lulu to the walk-in clinic. (Can I tell you how happy Shawn is that he's the only healthy member of the family, so he gets to take care of the rest of us?) *Grossness Alert* When they got back to the exam room, the P.A. took the band-aid off of Lulu's bite. It was so swollen that her skin ruptured - like two inch-long tears. Shawn said pus just poured out of it.
Give me a minute. I have to go vomit.
Okay. I'm back. Diagnosis? She got a bug bite that got bacteria in it (aka, cellulitis). The P.A. said it's always worse on kids around their joints because they move so much and there is so much blood flow to the area to help it spread. I don't care how you describe it. I'm just gonna need you to fix it!
She's gave us some antibiotic. Lulu came home with a circle drawn around the swelling. If the swelling got bigger than the circle, we had to go back to the doc. But, this morning, it's already drastically diminished in size. Praise God!
And, here's the other awesome part. Shawn said Lulu... absolutely unfazed by any of it. That's my tough girl! He said she just wanted to hurry through it all so she could have the cookies out of the vending machine he promised her when they were done. Sweetest father/daughter team ev-ah.
Now the update on me... me me me me me me me...
We have an amazing friend. A-maz-ing. (I won't call you out by name, friend, because I don't think you would like that. You're welcome.) But, people? A.maz.ing. Above and beyond. And, conveniently... a doctor. He's shown my films to I-don't-know-how-many-doctors, and talked to his friend - the ankle surgeon. The prevailing opinion...
Let it heal three weeks and see where we stand. (bu-dum-cha! Thank you, folks. I'll be here all week.) We'll see if maybe, just maybe, this little ol' tendon of mine might heal itself. (Heal, tendon! *said in my best Southern Revival Preacher voice while flat-hand-smacking my ankle - well, no... not smacking... that would hurt... how about... waving vigorously*)
Three weeks? Um. That's when the ankle doctor up here gets back from vacation. I already have an appointment scheduled with him.
Sometimes coincidences like that freak me out just a little bit.
So. That's where we are. I'm off to figure out how to live life on crutches... with a smile... because, remember? It could always be worse.