Close our eyes and hope that we'll be fine
I'm back from Canada. It was fun and stuff. It also concluded with my very first trip to the ER.
You see, I was sitting on a bench at Toronto Island minding my own business, and a bee stung me. My arm then proceeded to grow hot, red, and inflamed. People fed me pills and stuff and said it'd be better in a couple of days. I've been stung before; so I couldn't really imagine that it would be a big deal or that I would even need medical attention. But lo and behold, the next day (technically two days if you want to be like that) around midnight, when my flight got into Richmond, my friend's mom proclaimed it cellulitis and took me to the hospital.
The nurse asked me what it had looked like right after I had been stung. I then proceeded to whip out my digital camera and show her a vivid, macro photograph of the war wound at that time.
I'm not allergic to bees. And after being away travelling for a week, the last place you want to go is the ER for an insect sting. I mean, of all the cool ways to get hurt, a bee sting is probably the pansiest way ever.
So I got to the hospital and they made me wait a while despite the fact that no one else was there, then plugged me into an IV for forty-five minutes and gave me a presciption for some antibiotics and let me go home. I was out of there by two thirty.
My left arm is still red and swollen, but less so. I think the moral of the story is that Canadian bees are to be avoided. And that I can't be on antibiotics without thinking of Fitter Happier.
I got a lovely new white MacBook. All of my many pictures from the trip are on it, and I can't figure out how to get it connected to the internet. Patience, young Padawan.
College is looming.
How to be the coolest person ever: let me borrow your cell phone and have a picture of Guster live as your background and have me as the first contact in the address book.
You see, I was sitting on a bench at Toronto Island minding my own business, and a bee stung me. My arm then proceeded to grow hot, red, and inflamed. People fed me pills and stuff and said it'd be better in a couple of days. I've been stung before; so I couldn't really imagine that it would be a big deal or that I would even need medical attention. But lo and behold, the next day (technically two days if you want to be like that) around midnight, when my flight got into Richmond, my friend's mom proclaimed it cellulitis and took me to the hospital.
The nurse asked me what it had looked like right after I had been stung. I then proceeded to whip out my digital camera and show her a vivid, macro photograph of the war wound at that time.
I'm not allergic to bees. And after being away travelling for a week, the last place you want to go is the ER for an insect sting. I mean, of all the cool ways to get hurt, a bee sting is probably the pansiest way ever.
So I got to the hospital and they made me wait a while despite the fact that no one else was there, then plugged me into an IV for forty-five minutes and gave me a presciption for some antibiotics and let me go home. I was out of there by two thirty.
My left arm is still red and swollen, but less so. I think the moral of the story is that Canadian bees are to be avoided. And that I can't be on antibiotics without thinking of Fitter Happier.
I got a lovely new white MacBook. All of my many pictures from the trip are on it, and I can't figure out how to get it connected to the internet. Patience, young Padawan.
College is looming.
How to be the coolest person ever: let me borrow your cell phone and have a picture of Guster live as your background and have me as the first contact in the address book.