C'est Difficile, la C. Difficile

So. Somehow, I contracted c. difficile. And all I have to say is that it was tres difficile.

"We haven't had a case of c. diff on this floor in a very long time," said the specialist from the Infectious Diseases Department who came to see me.

It kind of made me feel a bit like the dirty whore of the 18th Floor ... sullying the erstwhile clean and infectious disease-free hallways. I was immediately put in isolation, my parents dressed in gowns and latex gloves. My old room had to be scrubbed clean from top to bottom, and the two roommates I'd had had to be notified and tested. I'm a dirty harlot.

Man. Talk about being put in the corner. I felt like no one wanted to be my friend and I had some sort of contagious disease. Well, I guess I did.

How on earth did I get this? I thought that only elderly people in regional hospitals that had bad sanitation records got this. C. diff almost always only occurs among the immuno-compromised (which is why it is normally a hospital outbreak), and apparently, the culprit can be too many antibiotics. I had been put on four oral antibiotics, plus I'd had a few bags of intravenous antibiotics in the two weeks prior to my treatment, so my guess is that is what happened.

Argh! How many more weird things can I get? I hear that polio is making a comeback; maybe I will get that next. Can you think of any other quirky afflictions I might acquire? This is what happens when your body falls apart on you. Chemotherapy is a bad, bad poison. The silver lining is that they cancelled my chemo for that day, so I got away with three days of chemo instead of four. Ha. Suckers. Fooled them.

In other news, I got my second shot of magical sea horses today. (I don't even want to get into the drama at the pharmacy and the fiery hoops and magical loopholes that my parents, doctors, and social worker had to go through to get me those ten astronomically expensive needles.) So far, my bones are not screaming. Fingers crossed.

I feel a bit like a limp rag doll, so many things hurt, I'm down to 92 lbs., or perhaps less now after my stint as an infectious disease strumpet ... but I am watching My So-Called Life on DVD, and getting all nostalgic for 1994. I'm missing my grunge phase (all those high-waisted vintage jeans and over-sized flannel shirts ... where did I put them?). Feeling like I need more Lemonheads and Juliana Hatfield in my life. Re-mourning Nirvana. Remembering what it was like to like the not-so-smart, smoker guys who often skipped class, just because they were hot. 'Tis magical.

(Thanks, Kate)