Foot on rock, it’s a veritable tradition. When I carry a big rock up from the river I sometimes take a picture of it with my foot on it. It serves as a bit of scale, and it feels dominant. Like a chimp breaking sticks to look strong in front of the pack, perhaps.
I hurt myself with a rock I carried up this past week, a great big smooth rock from the river, I didn’t drop the rock on my foot, but the additional weight of the rock caused me to scrape my foot pretty badly.
The wound itself isn’t so gory, just a really rugged scrape. But somehow an infection traveled into my joint and has been keeping up nights and lending me a limp.
The last time I had a wound like this, I had gotten a puncture while climbing on the van I built out to live in for a summer and it got infected, I went straight to urgent care and took a fair bit of antibiotics about it.
Googling infections of the joint of the great toe would have you believe the thing’ll fall off next Tuesday, or that I’ll have to endure crippling arthritis for the rest of my days if I don’t take a pill right this instant. I don’t really think any of that is true, and I don’t believe any doctor I spoke to about it on short notice would recommend any course of treatment beyond: “mild” antibiotics.
But isn’t there risk to obliterating my gut biota?
I’m proud of my gut biota.
I hate that the internet, perhaps man’s greatest invention, is a cess pit of either over-information, or misinformation or both. I looked up my symptoms only in jest, knowing the answer would be so outlandish and horrific that I’d be sick. This gift of information is so often little more than a joke about how goddamned stupid we all are, and how we can’t help ourselves.
I eat pretty good and I walk barefoot. That little colony’s doing God’s work and I’d hate to see them killed because I stubbed my toe, or whatever. So, high doses of echinacea tincture, lots of water, little sugar, and plenty of time off my feet.
I won’t stop moving rocks.
The last time I had a wound like this, I had gotten a puncture while climbing on the van I built out to live in for a summer and it got infected, I went straight to urgent care and took a fair bit of antibiotics about it.
Googling infections of the joint of the great toe would have you believe the thing’ll fall off next Tuesday, or that I’ll have to endure crippling arthritis for the rest of my days if I don’t take a pill right this instant. I don’t really think any of that is true, and I don’t believe any doctor I spoke to about it on short notice would recommend any course of treatment beyond: “mild” antibiotics.
But isn’t there risk to obliterating my gut biota?
I’m proud of my gut biota.
I hate that the internet, perhaps man’s greatest invention, is a cess pit of either over-information, or misinformation or both. I looked up my symptoms only in jest, knowing the answer would be so outlandish and horrific that I’d be sick. This gift of information is so often little more than a joke about how goddamned stupid we all are, and how we can’t help ourselves.
I eat pretty good and I walk barefoot. That little colony’s doing God’s work and I’d hate to see them killed because I stubbed my toe, or whatever. So, high doses of echinacea tincture, lots of water, little sugar, and plenty of time off my feet.
I won’t stop moving rocks.