Two weeks ago, I took a bad bounce and caught a softball with my leg, instead of with my glove, as the sports gods intended. You'd think I'd walk away with an ugly bruise, like most people would, but no: seems it was my turn for broken skin and a raging infection.
Fine. You play, you pay, or so the saying goes, and I'm a grownup with healthcare and 25 bucks to spend on a prescription. Sure, it seemed weird and kind of random, and it made me feel a bit precious, but whatever. After a decent period of polysporin, I gave in and doctored up.
I took all the pills. I took them on time. I took them with food when I remembered, and I took them without and rode out the nausea when I forgot. I avoided alcohol. I drank water. I didn't poke at it any more than necessary. I relaxed, tried to forget about it, waited it out.
Yesterday, I ran out of pills, and I looked at my leg. It's hardly changed.
It's a little less red around the edges, sure. Slightly less raw-looking. But it's still there--red, swollen, warm to the touch, with a faint, dark line running straight through its heart.
I don't get it. Why did it happen in the first place? Millions of people play ball every year--thousands every day, I'm sure. So why did this happen to me? Okay, so I tried my best to catch and I had some bad luck. Sometimes that happens. But c'mon, sports gods. This really feels unnecessary. I did everything I was supposed to do, and I still end up like this?
I guess I had it coming. Why do I keep trying sports, when I know how they turn out? And I know I heal slow. I know I do. My skin is cut with old scars, dark with old bruises. Why did I think this time would be different? That I would bounce into the Appletree, take my meds, and find myself unblemished ten days later?
I'm sure it'll get better in time. That's what's supposed to happen. And yet. I want it to be better now. I know dwelling on it won't help, but still: why won't I heal? Why won't I heal, why won't I heal, why won't I heal?