Let me get the most important information out of the way. Yes, my hemorrhoids are fine. I knew that you really, really needed to know that. (The suspense was killing you, right?)
So, this is Day Seven. Day seven of a week long hospital visit in which I started out from my apartment thinking that I might need a different cream, or even a few antibiotic tablets for this (admittedly ugly) infected mosquito bite.
If you would have told me, last Thursday, that they would send me straight to a hospital room, incarcerate me for seven days and stick gigantic needles into me…
I would have either laughed at you, or fled the country.
Of course, I also understand that this must be something that I need to go through. God ALWAYS looks out for me, and everything that happens to me is ALWAYS for a good reason.
Would you believe that I have yet to see anything happen to me that I have not later realized was a really good thing?
There is not a single event in my life that I was not eventually grateful for in some way.
Now, my own stupidity is another thing entirely. The above statement does NOT include those. I’ve done plenty of things that I regret, and I expect that my future will be full of stupid decisions that I may even regret more. (NEVER believe that your dumbest decisions are behind you.)
It’s a gift, a special talent.
Anyway, this is Day Seven, and there is yet another needle in my arm. This time, I’m being pumped full of 250mg of Prednisone.
Can I assume that it will help with the hemorrhoids?
Maybe I should take this moment to mention that my family has a long history of auto-immune problems. I’m just surprised that it took this long to for an auto-immune problem to… uh… bite me in the ankles. I’m not sure if I’ve been lucky, or just good at ignoring the obvious.
So now, I join the serried ranks of illustrious family members that do steroids.
Now, for those of you who expect me to walk into church with bulging muscles and extra chest hair, I hate to disappoint you, but… It’s not that kind of steroid.
Not that I have anything against anabolic steroids. Really, I don’t. If you want to do that to your body, go ahead – as long as you’re over the age of 21 and not competing in the Olympics. It’s your life. Shorten it however which way you wish. (On second thought…)
Although, a few bulging muscles would be kind of nice. I’m the lean, greyhound type, gone to flab. Really flab.
So, no. Yours truly, the flabby greyhound-type, won’t be getting any more muscular.
Oh, and when my admitting doctor came by this morning, he said that he’s going send me home on Saturday with more steroid tablets and an appointment to see a rheumatologist.
Rheumatologists deal with a bunch of stuff, including that auto-immune thing – the thing that I described as your body’s immune system staging an emergency out of boredom.