Infection @ MindSay

<a href="http://www.yeastinfectiontruth.com">Yeast infection cure</a>
<a href="http://www.yeastinfectiontruth.com">Yeast infection treatment</a>
<a href="http://www.yeastinfectiontruth.com">Yeast infection</a>

Assignment for history. We had to take things from a soldier's point of view in World War One, and write a letter home describing what the trenches were like and how the surroundings were and everything else. Please enjoy. I kinda like this one.

March 9th, 2009
Emily G. Fieldus
----------------------

Dear Mother and Father,

I want to apologize for taking you for granted. It seems like ever since I’ve entered this war, that I’ve been regretting every time for the days when I haven’t told you that I loved you. It’s amazing what a war like this can make you feel. I’m going to be honest in this letter. Nothing but completely honest.

Living in a trench is ten times worse than what others say it is. I’m constantly wet. Soaked. I can’t remember how it feels to be dry. It’s been that long, even though it feels like I waved good-bye to you and entered this endless battle only yesterday.
I’m sunken in up to my ankles in thick mud; which I have been trudging through just to reach the other end of this smelly trench. The smell is worse than anything else I have ever smelled. It makes me gag, but I can’t hide my nose because my hands are already holding onto my gun. It feels like they will not let go.

There is no escape from the swallowing embrace of the monster that is sprawled out along the ground, waiting to capture the most unaware of soldiers. I’ve seen my fellow men get snagged by their feet. Trapped within the arms of this unremorseful creature, they desperately extend their arms for help – screaming to be saved until their throat goes numb. All we can do, time after time, is stand – weapons in arms – frozen in fear as we watch them slowly, gradually, being pulled under. I have waited endlessly for them to surface. Nothing. Not even a man’s helmet. It never takes me long to realize that the lost and stolen ones will not return. The men continue to push me forward as I stand there silently, taking a small moment to mourn. They shove me in the back, ordering me to keep moving forward with their heavy, thundering voices.

You would think the mud would drown and cover everything it sees. But it doesn’t.
The vile, spat out remains of what the mud did not enjoy is all over the trench walls and floor. Nothing but unpleasant sights. Ones that remain within your mind forever.

Rats. Hundreds. Millions of them are gnawing at anything they can get at with their short, pointy claws and miniscule but dangerous jaws. They stare endlessly at me with their glowing, red eyes – and I know they are waiting for my downfall. From dawn until dusk, they are waiting for me. Waiting for me to hit the ground and lose; so they can feed their already-grotesque and enlarging bellies with my uniform fabric and freshly rotting flesh.
They have infested the trench. Nobody ever goes a minute without having a small pack of rats nibbling sharply at their awfully worn shoes and dead corpses that are spread out along the bottom of our hideout. It’s like these creatures were delivered by the devil, himself.

It takes a strong man to stare at these rats, and watch them eat away at a deceased corpse that once used to stand beside you in this fierce battle and not grimace in utter disgust. Or not furrow their eyebrows. Or even move a single muscle within their face. I am not one of these men. I can’t help but turn away; torn, shattered, and broken at the sight of these rats feeding off the dead flesh off a soldier’s bones. My memory will not be rid of the brave souls that gave it their all, even if they were yet to strike our enemy.

Lice have infested my hair and clothing. I always get an often urge to itch and scratch, but I can’t. I can’t lose my life to something as silly as wanting to cure the itch. Getting rid of these pests is impossible. Not even an iron and board can get rid of them. The infestation is immortal. They live within the stitches and fibers of my uniform, and my body heat keeps them alive. They bask within the strands of my hair, and feast on my cold scalp. These insects cause me to itch non-stop, but I am learning to resist these pressed urges and remain to keep my focus attached to this nightmare.

There is also a strange infection that has already grabbed many soldiers. They call it the ‘Trench Foot’. It’s the consequence to keeping our feet poorly kept; that is our fault. But we can’t help it. We are here for war, not to complain about such petty things. I have seen men get sent away due to this disease, and have the afflicted limb amputated. I have a strong feeling deep in my gut that I am this monster’s next target.

I have also watched soldiers grow insane due to the traumatisation of this war. Some call it ‘Shell Shock’. These warriors would scream in such agony, clutching their aching heads, pleading for everything to stop. The sights and the sounds. The piercing whistles of fired bullets, and the deafening explosions from the mines. The blood splattered sand our feet swiftly sweep across, and the dead bodies that lie there. Untouched and left behind for natural disasters to rid them of their current locations. I have watched these poor souls be driven away to asylums, knowing that they will never return to a relaxed state of mind ever again.

Men are slowly being reduced to young boys. Fear never releases our minds, and our nightmares as knee-high children are restored to life day by day. The overpowering scent of death is everywhere. Not a single soldier gets a break to ease our minds of this hell on earth. Relaxing doesn’t exist, and even though all may seem calm in the hours of night, our minds are still alert – attached to the victorious sounds of squealing bullets and the screams of death from our foes. My dirty and sweaty hands itch to pull the triggers of guns, and my blistered feet are eternally sore.

Nothing matters when you are in war. Nobody cares if you have a wife, or have children back at home. Nobody matters where you came from, how many languages you speak, or if you excel at arithmetic or have read several Shakespearean plays. Nobody cares if you are rich or poor, or how many friends you have lost in this feud. All that matters is where your aim is, where you’re stepping, and how long you can continue to stay alive.

But don’t worry. I’m okay.

I love you.

Well, it does if you're a 7 year old boy :)

 

My son on Wed. said when he got home that he didn't feel well, was tired and wasn't really hungry. He slept from 3:30 til 8pm, ate a little and played for about 20 minutes and went back to bed. No fever, nothing. Throat looked great, not even a cough. He sneezed - but it was a sneeze, nothing more.

 

Thursday he wakes up happy and energetic - I checked for fever and looked at his tonsils and all was well. Heck, he even played the Wii for a bit before school. Came home still happy and healthy, but has a reddish hue to his chin...like he had fallen asleep on the bus again with his head rested on the seat in front of him, his backpack or his hands. Still, everything was just fine.

 

Friday he was a bit pinkish, like a heat rash. Tonsils, fever, all signs absent. I told him I'd call the school about the rash thing, it looked like allergic hives but they weren't itching, and they were few...more like a bugbite or two. He ate breakfast and was hyper and silly, all was well.

 

About 40 minutes go by, the nurse calls to tell me he has to be picked up because he's running a very low fever, 100.3 - but she said too, there was nothing else with the fever..just warm. She said his tonsils looked great, and he felt just fine, but school policy is for anything over 99.0 goes home. We got him and he was fine. The post before this about the 2 1/2 hour walk all over the area? That's the day. We got back and he had a light pink sunburn 'tan line' where his shirt was. No fever, he was normal til he left to his dad's for the weekend.

 

I got a call last night, a rather angry one wanting to know *why* I didn't tell his dad sooner about his strep infection. Said his fever was 101.4, and his tonsils looked horrendous - spots, swollen almost shut, and the works. He said he saw this within 2 hours of having him home. I'd checked him just 3 hours before! There were

*no *signs! In any case, my son looks like a human tomato - he has scarlet fever due to an almost week old strain of strep.

 

Now, this means the very day that he said "I had a big lunch so I'm not hungry, we played outside and had PE there too, so I'm tired". I asked about his red chin a few days past, he said he'd kept falling in the grass while learning football. (He's allergic to grass, gets the same exact looking rash.) And those things are supposed to make me freak out and demand a trip to the ER, or the doctor which would require $75 *and* that my ex take a day off for it, and my son miss school. Always told I over-react, I opted to wait for symptoms showing something..anything. Apparently, I wasn't too smart. A trip to the doctor revealed a severe infection that had been there for about a week? Now I feel like a neglectful mom, I should have known. I'm empathic, how did I miss this?

 

So the end tale is that my son is still at his dad's, happy that the antibiotics taste more like bubblegum and less like metallic sardines. His dad only buys the big giant plastic tub of ice cream usually, but when my boy is sick, he gets to choose his own. For my son, this means his favorite, frozen yogurt. This is his 7th time having scarlet fever alongside strep in the last 2 years. It's the 4th time in one year. He has picked his favorite cold treat every time. Does he care he's sick? Nope. Is he complaining? Not at all. But you know what?

 

I asked him what he thought of all this and his reply just made me laugh. He looks like a human strawberry and can't hardly swallow, but his sum of everything was:

"I don't mind it really - the medicine's way less nasty than last time, and besides-Scarlet fever frozen yogurt kicks butt !"

 

Next time I get sick, I think I'll start at traditional something for myself , just a little silver lining that when summed up with feeling lousy , still comes out on top. Well, here's to hoping that tomatos and cherries remain your foods and not your complexions!

Lilli

Infected Mushroom?
no!
infected cheek?
yeah!

okay. so like, beginning february before track started i got all four of my wisdom teeth out.
cool. cool.
and you know, they take them out and there's holes in your mouth and such, no big deal. do the washing thing and the syringe they give you and blah blah they close up after a while it's cool.

well i guess not.
something got in there on the left side of my face.
and it was like, kind of hard for a while, but i didn't think anything of it. because it didn't bother me or anything. why should i bother with it if it didn't effect me? ya know?
yeah.

so i wake up this morning and i have this GIANT SWELLING on the side of my face. like i look like i only got one of my wisdom teeth out. it looks ridiculous.
so i call my mom and blah blah blah. i'm at the orthodontist's and they say it's like, a puss bubble, or something like that.
something got infected in there and now it's like a giant ball of..shit basically.
and they need to drain it.

sidenote: this wouldn't be as nasty if they didn't describe it as popping a giant zit in my mouth. yeah. basically grossed out major.

so anyways. tomorrow at two they're going to give me laughing gas and numb the left side of my face. make an incision and squeeze all the crap out. nasty shit, right?



i just hope i don't have to taste any of that stuff. yuck.

... sometimes it's just plain hard, life can knock you down, it can break your heart....

 

So somehow I managed to get sick, and then sicker:

 

Human Parvovirus

Cytomegalovirus

Norovirus

Strep Throat

Bronchitis

Bladder Infection

 

Fun. I mean funny. No, I mean for fucks sake!

 

I'm confined to the house because I could give these to anyone. :( Booooooo.