Really, I'm fine.

Well nothing says Happy Holidays like a staph infection. On your face.

Yep.

I'm an expert at self-deception, but even I couldn't convince myself that the knot growing on my jaw was getting better on the day before Christmas eve. Being the optimist that I am I had given it a few days to heal on it's own thinking maybe it was just one of those cystic kind of zits. By the time I got serious about it, this knot was the size of a quarter, warm to the touch and growing by the hour. My jaw line looked completely different and I was beginning to imagine having all kinds of horrible procedures to correct it.

The days surrounding Christmas are just about the best time to try to make a doctor's appointment. The tone of my dermatologist's receptionist reminded me of this. I decided I'd just swing by the urgent care sort of place near the house. I've been there before and was pleased with the service. The tornadic weather the previous evening had put them a little behind in terms of computer work, but it wasn't yet crowded and everyone was pleasant. I noticed the sign on the receptionist's glass window that said, "Please notify us if you are allergic to cats. We have Persian kitties." Now to me, that means maybe someone has some kittens they are trying to place and they are stashed in the break room somewhere. What it most certainly did NOT mean to me was that two full grown, long haired cats were meandering the halls of this medical facility. But they were. So I had a decision to make, it would seem. Assuming the professionals here had read all the articles on the therapeutic and healing nature of animals, it might be reasonable for me to just stay in my seat and get this mass looked at before my face rotted off, but on the off chance that the folks here were just maybe not as committed to hygiene as I am, perhaps I'd be better off slinking out and trying another place.

Being already invested time wise in the process and now being plainly curious meant that I was gonna stay. No one else seemed unnerved by the water bowl and toys and cat hair that tell me these animals are regulars here. About the time I decided to just roll with it a little Yorkie bounced by me. I swear to God. So now we are up to 2 cats and 1 dog with a cute little topknot IN THE DOCTOR'S OFFICE.

The nurse called me back and asks first if I'm allergic to cats. "Only if I touch them or breathe really close to them," I say because I know if she leaves me alone in the room with Cleo that cat is gonna hop on my lap and the sneezing will begin. It takes her a few minutes to shoo the cat with her foot out of the exam room. I just wait. When the doctor arrives, she throws open the door and says, "Are you here for our weight loss plan?" Deflated, and now feeling infinitely worse, I kinda mew, "No?" Talk about back pedaling. I imagine jumping off the paper lined table and walking out, but I feel bad enough to just stay and get this done and the back pedaling did involve telling me I was pretty.

Takes her about 6 seconds to declare this monster a probable Staph infection and to give me a shot in the hip. She promised to numb it, but I think she didn't like me much. She didn't promise that I'd live, but she did say she wouldn't CUT IT OPEN until tomorrow if it didn't look better. I stumble out of her office with tons of antibiotics and I've followed every instruction to a T. In fact, I'm almost perfectly healed. Now I've related this story to a few people and they all say going back for tomorrow's follow up might not be wise (is it sanitary?), but I absolutely intend to go back and get a couple of pictures because I'm afraid no one will believe me. I should say, despite the menagerie of furry friends, they still handled my problem professionally and in the most timely manner. Maybe tomorrow when I go I will discover something more exotic like a camel or a peacock. I'll keep you posted.