Who knew a splinter the size of 3 atoms laid end to end could spur such an onslaught? A tiny dot on the tip of my finger - pinkish but barely visible - hollered mayday. Pink became red became magenta as white blood cells zoomed to the spot, the spot became an angry little hillock, and the battle was joined. The war between the forces of red and the forces of white heated up the battlefield of flesh, and the battle raged for hours. The host, me, plunged a pair of tweezers into the alcohol bottle and nudged out a splinter, barely visible, one very wee to have caused such a ruckus. My finger throbs, it is hot, and it is twice its normal size.
A little Polysporin and a good night's sleep ought to cure me. But you know what? If all this happened while I was awake, can you imagine what my constituent parts are up to while I'm asleep? Scary.
No comments:
Post a Comment