Just when you think you’re not stepping in any more shit…
Life is a series of peaks and valleys. I get that… Sometimes the peaks happen with more frequency, and sometimes it’s the valleys. The universal truth is that you just simply can’t have one without the other.
It would seem as though yours truly has been stuck in the mud in one of said valleys for some time. I keep waiting for a tow truck, a thrown rope, or even a passerby to help me from this cosmic mire, but I’ll be damned if with every near-exit, I fall right back in.
While I don’t want this platform to be a ‘woe is me’ amplification device, I would be remiss to not share the latest in a mind numbing series of misfortunes.
So as I noted on Tuesday, my shoes were tied, and I was ready to head to the northern part of the state for a few solid days of beer, fire, creeks, and BB guns. My bags were packed, and I was one foot out the door. However (and though I didn’t know it at the time), a curveball got thrown a week prior when a cat I was sitting for Yafro while he and the Mrs. were out of town bit the back of my hand.
Mind you, this wasn’t the fella who (if you’ve been following along with the Instantgrahams), moved into my house for a couple of days;
It may have been said somewhere thou shalt not covent they neighbor’s pet, but I do.
Anyway- having been a wrangler of all kinds of animals since I was old enough to toddle, I’m no stranger to scratches, bites, and the like. However in this instance, the swelling was profound. For two days I squeezed pus from the wounds, and kept it cleaned and covered with antibiotic gel. It wasn’t until Sunday when a friend who works at a local hospital said I should get it looked at.
By the time I was able to get an appointment with the doctor, the wound had gone full blown cellulitic, and as such, my doc immediately became concerned, and proposed the potential of surgery.
As it turns out, as sweet as the little fuzzy buddies are, if they bite you and break the skin deep enough, they can potentially introduce a bacteria called Pasteurella which effectively disintegrates the tendon sheath though a process called tenosynovitis.
If you’d like, here’s basically the worst case scenario.
So as the cellulitis’ streaking is well underway, I’m looking at my swollen hand, and thinking about spending the following five days way the hell away, and a ten hour bus ride back to my local provider should the antibiotics not do their job.
There were a host of reasons I needed to leave my immediate reality for a few days, but lo and behold- There was that old familiar mud in which I once again have fallen face first.
I was telling a friend I’d probably opt to just take myself out of my misery, were I not looking so forward to see what’s coming next. Getting crushed by a giant clown shoe? Slipping on a banana peel and falling down a manhole? The mind spins at the possibilities, and though at this point, I doubt this here readership could give the ass of a rat, and they’d prefer the wahmbulance to just take me away, the saga has become so intertwined with the day to day, were it not for a steady diet of grief, I don’t know what I’d write about.
In conclusion to that bit, I’d offer a moral to the story if I could see one. As it is, I don’t, and so here we are.
In happier news I got a shout from my old Santa Cruz compatriot, and hesher to the stars, Danny B, and in it was a bit of good vibration;
WKB, Kyle and I were hanging out in your office today;
We stoked hella gnar, and spoke of friends from far.
Meaning you, dickhead.
I think that thing that WKB is sitting on is a well cap, and it sits right around the top of a trail unofficially called Fence Line. Of course depending on who you ask, and on what day you ask them, it’s the middle of the trail, and/or potentially called ‘Dog’s Paw’, ‘Laser Beam’, ‘Howdy Doody’, or any other inane combinations of words, but since that’s what I initially learned it to be, that’s what it is.
I spent an abundance of time sitting there mid-ride with all manner of friends over the years. Eventually I dubbed that spot in particular ‘the snack bar’, simply because that’s where I’d stop to eat snacks. Imaginative, right?
So it did my heart right to see some old homies putting in time at a place that at a time meant so much to me, and I thank Danny for taking the time to let me know.
Lastly, I will handle a bit of business-ie type of business and let any and all individuals know who got in on the recent t-shirt pre-order, that they are most deff in the works;
I even heard from my printer letting me know that they are in fact still in business, and we’re in the queue. We might be looking at the shirts landing in the next couple of weeks, or possibly a little less.
Just as I’ve told a couple of folks recently who’ve made contact on the matter, while I may be a scoundrel, I certainly am no thief.
To this pledge, I cross my both of my cold, dead hearts, and less importantly, the shit on my feet.
Holy Shit! A fricking cat bite! Wrap yourself in plastic sheathing and don’t let the world touch you until you have shaken this curse. Time to figure out which bruja stuck a whammy on you and what you need to exercise the demon parked firmly on your left shoulder. Shake it off man!
One of life’s true ironies is how people who give the most sometimes get wailed on the hardest in return. Just try to grin and bear it and don’t give up.
Sometimes, the best part of riding bikes with buddies is the non-riding part. Er’ybody got they own kind of “snack bar”.
Sorry to see about your trip getting derailed. Bummer. The good news is that you were able to deal with it at home, rather than in the middle of nowhere far away from medical professionals. That’s pretty lucky, dude. On the other hand(pun not intended), I guess you missed out on an opportunity to get a hook to replace your hand.
But inquiring minds want to know, how has the cat bite/swelling/etc affected your ability to handle your toy truck remote control?
PS – Seriously though, hope you get better soon.
PPS – and still damn you for the RC car rabbit hole you thrust my addled mind down into
Cute little bastards. God love ’em.
Your Instagram cat is making up for the mouth evil of the other one. That little dude has some heartstrings plucked.
Fuck really.. Shit sorry..
I have a very specific way of looking at life mayhem (cats, hospitals, bike wrecks whatever) like you’ve experienced lately. Statistically speaking you now have the maximum amount of time until your next infected cat bite . Heck, depending on how long you enjoy this Earth you may have fulfilled your infected cat puncture wound responsibility in its entirety. Check that one of the list. That’s pretty good news!