And then on Monday, when you're angrily walking back to the car from a beach visit cut short by a misbehaving three-year-old because you swore you would follow-through on any "if you do that again, we are leaving" threats, your phone rings, and it's the doctor's office, and they have the results from your culture.

"Do you have a few minutes?" she asks.  Shit.  SHIT.  Why would she be asking me this if she didn't have terrible news???
"Sure," I say.
"So we got the results of your culture back, and there is a bit of Staph growing in it."  WHY DOES SHE SOUND SO NONCHALANT?  Remember that chick who cut her leg in the swamp water and then got flesh-eating bacteria and lost her hands and her feet?  I mean, that's sort of like Staph, right???  I'M GOING TO LOSE MY LEG.

So now I'm on these horse-pill antibiotics that make me feel really f-ed up, on top of my growing irritation and general anxiety about completing week THREE without physical exertion, and the incision has still not closed back up because the infection is all, "You are my bitch."