I have become the unwilling focal point in a vicious vendetta against both my sanity and my physical well-being by a filthy hoard of arachnid thugs. They've infiltrated my home, and have been seen scuttling around the dark corners and closets of the one place a person should feel safe. I've taken a stand against the terrorism and made small steps in eliminating the source of the criminal activity, but for every three I dispose of, six more crop up in their stead. Most recently I was attacked in my sleep, the epitome of dastardly, plotting against a foe in their time of utmost vulnerability. I woke this morning to a near gangrenous wound, caused by dirty fangs. The carnage was unimaginable. My husband told me it rather resembled a mosquito bite, but he has never fallen prey to such an evil enemy, what does he know? I took photos of the crime scene with my iPhone from all angles and sent them to various family members, none of which responded in the shock and horror I expected of them; alas! I am alone in this world.
The pain was excruciating. The pain young Bella endured as Edward turned her I assume is similar to what I felt, and I am still checking the mirror periodically for changes in complexion and hair radiance as well as any signs of glistening, sparkly skin. Still nothing as of yet. I made several frantic calls to health care facilities in the hopes that someone could help me. When my regular doctor wouldn't clear his entire schedule for me, I desperately decided to go to stat care.
When I arrived the receptionist was yelling at everyone to sign in on the computer mounted on the wall, and I was forced to limp behind a slow moving, possibly diabetic man using a walker. I wondered to myself why this place hadn't employed a triage nurse to separate the non-emergency patients (this man) from the immediate care patients (me). After having signed in using technology that was cutting edge in 1997, I was then asked to wait for what seemed like five hours for a foreign, impatient resident who would see me for five minutes. No wonder this countries health care system is spiraling out of control.
The nurse briskly called me back after I had apathetically perused seventeen issues of Seventeen Magazine, and I was asked a copious amount of questions regarding my menstrual cycle. Why is it, that because both my children were accidents they automatically assume every time I come in, it's regarding a pregnancy scare? Again with the disaster we call American health care.... I answered obligingly however, and soon we got to the point. I have always been one to smile even in the face of great calamity and tried making several (hilarious, if you ask me) jokes about my situation, none of which Nurse Ratchet even smirked at. Was she working for the arachnid gang? She inspected my wound with bored eyes, and told me the doctor would be right in.
As the minutes passed in silence whilst waiting for the doctor I contemplated what had led me down this road...Was it my mother's fear of all things spider, passed down to me? Was it truly a conspiracy to terrify me into fleeing my own home? What had made me their mark? My thoughts were interrupted by a young, attractive doctor who entered the room. For a fleeting second his bulging biceps made me forget my predicament as I mentally tried to remember the last time I had received a pedicure. I was poked and prodded under the glaring lights of the surgery lamps, the horrifying diagnoses was revealed! I would need a week long prescription for antibiotics to quell the poison coursing through my veins. Relieved to hear that there was an anti-venom available but I still had a problem on my hands.
The monsters who induced all this agony were still on the loose in my home. As I sit here writing this, my foot soaking in a very rare, very healing solution of salt and water, I can't help but feeling that thousands of tiny eyes are watching my every move. I've made the decision to be strong and courageous in the face of possible annihilation. I refuse to give up the good fight. I refuse to be yet another casualty in this little spoken of war. I will rise to the occasion, spider and centipede spray in hand and I will destroy anything that attempts to harm my family or myself. If you are reading this and you have more than two legs, know this, I am coming for you with a vengeance. This isn't over.
