Hospital Rewards Card?

So as I've previously written, our family has spent a very challenging couple of years, which have come with unexpected blessings and (perhaps) the opportunity to grow stronger.

Humor is one of our family's coping mechanisms - and Rebekah used that card on Thursday night as we walked into the hospital emergency department, prepared for another all-nighter, for the second time in one month, for a second and separate reason.

Rebekah said, "They should offer a punch card," and I laughed.

So at the check-in desk, I asked if they offered a rewards card for frequent customers. The woman at the desk laughed, too.

None of that changed the situation, of course. But why not momentarily lighten the mood for all?

After I was triaged, I thanked everyone for their time and help and then headed out to the waiting room to find Rebekah and our backpacks of "stuff."

As I left, I heard one of the providers say to the other, "I wish they were all like her."

They don't really (just ask my family).

But I do like the idea of a hospital rewards card.

In the day of rising health care costs, offering a free visit could result in misuse by patients.

Still - why not a free coffee while you wait after, say, ten visits?

Or hospital swag (Rebekah loves swag): T-shirts, hoodies, coolers, mugs? Or (better yet) blankets and travel pillows (yes, Rebekah brings travel pillows and blankets. But extras never hurt).

Could this idea catch on?

Thoughts?

Illustration by Matt Coundiff for "Visage"

New Diagnosis

I lived the most boring life ever as a child - or, at least, that was my perspective.

Anything that was interesting or unusual happened to "other people." Not us.

But somewhere along the way, our family started to "collect" a variety of health issues, many of which are unknown to others. 

Last night one of my sons said we seem to have every weird thing from A-Z.  Made me laugh.

Seriously, off the top of my head we've dealt with (or are currently dealing with) in our immediate biological family the following: pheochromocytoma, polycythemia, idiopathic thrombocythemia, Steven-Johnson syndrome, chronic urticaria, inappropriate sinus tachycardia, polycystic ovarian syndrome, Hashimoto's, POTS, hyperhidrosis - and that's before the "normal" diabetes, hypertension, rheumatoid arthritis, gall bladder surgeries, hypothyroidism, etc.

All but one of the above have appeared in either me, my children, or both. Oh, and there may be asymptomatic multiple sclerosis hanging around that will beg for attention some day. But that day is not today.

Seriously, someone should look at us under a microscope. And chastise whoever is leaving the unicorn feed at our door.

Because now now we can add another to our virtual shelf of oddities: hidradenitis suppurativa, an insidious inflammation and infection of sweat glands that can be unpredictably progressive with no therapies that consistently work. Oh, and it comes with a higher risk of half a dozen cancers, its way of bringing a housewarming gift, I suppose.

Now we can't go as far as to welcome HS into our midst. In fact, it's going to find we'll do its best to make it feel as unwelcome as possible.

But it will certainly feel right at home among its new friends.

The diagnosis came as no surprise.

But I'm thankful for lots of reasons.

One, the latest flare looks healed with no scarring.

Two, I have a clear treatment plan until the the HS outsmarts it, which may never happen.

Three, I have terrific providers.

Four, the news came on Holy Wednesday in the Orthodox church, which is dedicated to healing. 

Coincidence? God's timing? You decide.

And have a beautiful and blessed day!

Please Have Faith in Faith

One October day in 2005, while I was upstairs in my attic office in my Channahon home interviewing someone by phone, Rebekah burst through the swinging door to tell me Daniel was feeding tuna to a stray cat.

The cat turned out to be a nine-month-old kitten. We asked around town and put up fliers, but we never did find the owner. So we named her Frances. We spayed someone's cat. And Frances is still with us.

Two years later, my oldest son Christopher found an abandoned litter of kittens, so he brought them home. He found homes for them all, except for a tiny black one who was skittish and unfriendly. Would we take her?

Even as I objected, I named her Midnight. We picked her up. She was not unfriendly, just scared and sick. She was FULL of tapeworms (think fettucine in size full) and ear mites. We nursed Midnight back to health. The vet would not spay her until her fecal samples showed no tapeworms. 

At nine months, Midnight ran out of the house and got pregnant under our deck. She had three kittens. My husband Ron named them Faith, Hope, and Charity. Midnight tested negative for tapeworms, and we did a mass spay and neuter of four cats. We still have Midnight

Charity (the only male in the group), a penguin used up all nine of his lives in 2013. His escapades could fill another blog.

Hope, our athletic tortie, is living the life (seriously, she is so spoiled) with friends in Morris. Again, another long story.

Faith, our prissy, afraid of her own shadow cat, is also a very loving cat. She loves to be be petteed (I trained her to love it. She used to hate being touched) and loves to pose for the camera.

All our cats are very healthy, and we do nothing special for them except feed them their favorite food off the grocery store shelves, give them fresh water one or more times a day, take them to their annual vet appointments/vaccine, etc. 

We give them their space when they want their space. And we love on them when they want that, too. 

Only Frances takes medicine and it's not really medicine. She takes glucosamine for joint support, and it's made a huge difference for her. She jumps onto "things" like a kitten.

Our vet marvels at the health of these senior cats. The sheen of their coats. Their bright eyes. Their energy and agility.

All that changed three weeks ago.

Rebekah and I were sick (not COVID, but we got tested to be sure) for a week. During that week. I felt Faith was losing weight. But it was just a vague feeling when I was petting her. I couldn't be sure. So Rebekah made a vet appointment for the following week. Faith was due for shots anyway.

On that Monday, two weeks ago, the day before Faith's appointment, she was suddenly VERY sick. The vet saw her, ran bloodwork, gave her an anti-nausea shot, an appetite stimulent, and fluids. Faith had also lost two pounds from the previous year.

Bloodwork was normal on Tuesday. Faith went for an X-ray on Wednesday. She was worse - and had dropped another half pound.

X-ray had an area of concern, so the vet did an ultrasound. From there, Faith went to the hospital.

Details of her treatment are on the GoFundMe page Daniel began.

While Faith was in the hospital, the vet called several times a day because Faith's situation kept changing. I always brought up the question of what was in Faith's best interest. 

But once we could visit Faith (no lie), her situation dramatically improved. She was discharged twenty-four hours earlier than anticipated.

She is continuing to improve (the photo below is from Friday), but she is not out of the proverbial woods yet.

The vet has faith in Faith's recovery.

So we have faith in Faith's recovery.

Can you have faith in Faith's recovery, too?

Any help (thoughts, prayers, donations) are very, very appreciated.

https://gofund.me/3440aeb1

Perfect Timing

One common theme I often hear when I write my "An Extraordinary Life" features for The Herald-News is that the subject of the story "never complained" when fighting cancer or other devastating illnesses.

No one willl ever say that about me.

Nothing kicks up anxiety for me and for some of my children like illness. Maybe that's because we've been blessed/cursed with some of the most unusual maladies out there: pheochromocytoma, Steven Johnson Syndrome, refractory diseases.

For those of us who complain (I'm raising my hand over here), the complaining is not whining. The complaining serves as a reality check as to what is and is not typical and whether or not someone should act, whether the guard should go up or down.

Too much of the time, getting sick for us is not a simple thing. Too much of the time, going to the doctor is fraught with stress because the only reason we are seeking medical help is because we either couldn't figure out the issue or the issue is too great for us to fix on our own. Too much of the time, the doctor can't get it right on the first try, either.

Two weekends ago I worked. It was a quiet weekend and accomplished a lot. So I was really looking forward to tackling some fiction this weekend.

But on Friday, both Rebekah and I came down with some sort of viral bug.

So on Saturday, we did the responsible thing: we broke open our first home COVID test. Both test results were negative.

On Sunday, we did the next responsible thing: we went for PCR testing. We got the results back yesterday, actually immediately after I told my supervisor I was sick. Both results were negative.

This morning, we are starting to feel better. And the timing was perfect, really.

Daniel has wanted to carve some time out to watch The Haunting of Hill House. Well, since I didn't feel up to anything else, we blew through it this weekend. We're also halfway through The Haunting of Bly Manor. See what happens when you don't have the energy to work out or clean house?

On Sunday, I was starting to feel better and wound up finishing the last two chapters of Call of the Siren after all. Hurray! I'm on the right side of getting well.

But Sunday night, the virus showed its teeth and kept me up half the night.

On Sunday night, I fretted about a big project at work - which I finished on Monday.

On Sunday night, I fretted about some "life" things coming up that this virus might take out only to wake up at 4 a.m. and realize the virus was barely whimpering.

This morning, I'm feeling more assured that some bugs are simply some bugs, and we do get over most of them. The timing of this one was perfect, really, with COVID cases at an all-time low.

I'm a planner, and it's good to plan. I'd never get much accomplished without planning.

I also like protecting my health. I spent the first two decades of my life not feeling well most of the time. And my efforts at wellness have served me well for most of my adult life.

But when plans go sideways, it opens the door for other opportunities.

When the timing is perfect.

Illustration by Sue Midlock for "Cornell Dyer and the Flu"

Vampire Week No. 2

So my Friday Fiction Night went south two weekends ago due to an unexpected trip to the emergency room for a suprise and atypical infection.

And I was told to stay out of the sun with the antiobiotic I was given for the next seven days. 

Well, the infection had its own ideas. And by Tuesday night, it had reversed its course, and I wound back in the ER on Wednesday night.

On Thursday, I saw a specialist for a follow-up, and he gave me another week of the antiobiotic. And it may continuing making me photosensitive for another week after I stop it.

Good news is that medicine seems to be beating back the infection. So I play vampire for another week or two and venture outside only after the sun goes down.

That seems like a small price to pay to get well, doesn't it?

 

NaNoWriMo #15 and Over-Editing Syndrome

Bryony Preqeul, Secton One, etc.: No check. :(

Word Count: 0

I debated titling this blog Confession of a Medical Phobic (I had an allergic reaction to one of the antibiotics I was taking, so I get to try a NEW drug tonight, oh joy!), but decided to focus on another condition I've been battling: over-editing syndrome.

Over the past couple of years, the amount of editing I do has vastly increased. I not only self-edit my "regular" work, but I've spent hours upon hours pouring through Bryony, and that's on top of the occasional editing assignment I'll assume for another writer.

While all this editing is sharpening my skills, I now have an inner editor monitoring my social media posts and my rough drafts, but it doesn't stop there. I scour for mistakes in my children's textbooks, other books I am reading (I can now pick up any book and find errors), and even educational pamphlets.

The other night, while at a hospital emergency department, I noticed a stack of flyers listing policy and procedures. Since I had nothing else to do as I waited at the desk, I read the flyer. Soon, I was nudging my son and pointing.

"There's a common error here."

He rolled his eyes.

Then I noticed the "pardon our dust" construction sign on the window.

"I don't know," I said. "The sentence structure sounds clumsy."

You get the picture.

As I read through Bryony's proof copy for what I hope will be the last time, I have to squelch the urge to second-guess grammar and punctuation rules and rewrite, rewrite, rewrite.

I hear this is common with other writers, but I never dreamed I'd fall victim to it. So if my mind is so persnickety, Why do I still keep making mistakes?

NaNoWriMo Day #'s 13 & 14 and Miscellaneous Munsonville Musings

Bryony Prequel, Section One: Nothing

Word Count: 0

Hand is getting there; hopefully, the prequel will soon be, too. I'm reluctant to give away details yet, since I will be writing about the mishap for the Herald News. When that day comes, I'll share the link. At any rate, National Novel Writing Month's good intentions aside, this was one sidetrack I hadn't seen coming.

My book designer, Serena Diosa, author of Tinkey's Goldfish, had a family emergency last week, but we are meeting on Thursday evening. I'm using this extra time to give Bryony one last read. Once formatting errors are repaired, we will FINALLY have a book ready to go. I've also made a dent in some other editing projects, so, all in all, the hand injury wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Definitely missing the five-mile walk, but had no energy for it, until today. Now, if I could just stop oversleeping....

On the crisis homefront, I now have a sick cat, and my oldest son has an infected tooth. He's following right behind my oldest daughter, who just had four iinfected and impacted wisdom teeth removed and then waged war on an antibiotic allergic reaction and two dry sockets. Rebekah pulled her back while emptying garbage cans at the warehouse, and Daniel's bloody nose has returned, necessitating another cauterization. It's starting to look like an infirmary around here.

Sarah Stegall, Bryony's web administrator, has been working with Rebekah (who's now offically the web administrator assistant) on creating Bryony Facebook ads. Those should be up and running by next week. Tommy Connolly, Bryony's media researcher and developer, is putting the finishing touches on the press kit.

Last Wednesday, earlier in the day, before the hand emergency thing, the lovely Kallan Dee Ellis of KALLAN Studios, shot some gorgeous publicity photos at the P. Seth Magosky Museum of Victorian Life and Joliet History. The idea was to have a press shot of me with a Bryony aura, and Kallan more than successfully accomplished it. I can't wait to show off the pictures!

Also, Dulcinea Hawksworth, Bryony's director of marketing, completed the "music box," which has been duly sent for CAL Graphics, Inc. for completion of the official CD cover for The Best-Loved Compositions of John Simons, the CD that contains all the Bryony music--including the theme song--that pianist/composer James Onohan created just for the novel.

To create Bryony's music box, Dulcinea started with simple wood box with a gold clasp from a craft store, stained the box to resemble cherry wood, then painted on green vines and pink flowers. I think she is also intending to line it. I've only seen pictures, but those are beautiful. I can't wait to see it up close.

In the meantime, I'm reveiwing editing options for Visage, so we can start, in earnest, on planning a release date for Bryony book number two. We are also in the end stages of finalizing the Bryony cookbook.

Stay tuned and pray this author's hands stay safe!

NaNoWriMo Day #12 and a Plea from Ed Calkins, the Steward of Tara

Bryony Prequel, Section One, et., etc.: No check.
Word Count: 0.

Still struggling with the hand, so saving energy reserves, etc. to regular assignments, which are mounting. Still, have full intentions of returning to that prequel sooner than later.

In the meantime, I received an email from Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara, concerning "voter fraud" surrounding his annual Queen of Christmas contest.

You see, one of Ed's "community-building" projects in the newspaper distrubution center where he currently works is buying and giving Christmas presents to all of the carriers' children in his agency.

As part of this project, Ed asks the carriers to submit names of women carriers they feel would make an ideal Queen of Christmas. The winner collects the childrens' names, ages, and general interests for Ed; they also distribute the presents he purchases.

So what's the problem? I'll let you read it for yourself.

Hard as it may be to believe, I have been accused of unethically influencing the Queen of Christmas nominations. Naturally, I promised a full and speedy investigation from an independent, fair, and reputable investigator.

Only after making that promise did I wonder if I knew anyone like that! But, of course, I do. You, Denise, have the journalistic chops that should impress even the most sceptical of my critics.

  

Your mandate is simple! Look for evidence of corruption or misdealings in the nomination process of 2011 on my behave. Remember, I promised a full and speedy investigaion, so you must respond with your findings within my deadline.

Also, you must grant as full of review as can be made on a post 2008 budget, which, if you've opened this email, you're already over. (Sorry, you will not be reimbursed.)

Be fair and inpartial, but remember you're not getting paid for this, and it's not worth your time. When the deadline (five minutes after you receive this) has expired, you need not respond if not a shred of evidence is found; your silence will be understood that way.

However, if you do find wrong doing, you must report it to the proper authorities, unless you consider me as too prejudiced to receive your findings.

P.S. Should you actually look in to this, do not be concerned about the ballots found in the garbarge, as poor handwriting clearly disqualfied them.

Of course, I remained silent (except for a few hearty chuckles while reading). Would you have done otherwise?

NaNoWriMo Day #11 and "Kosmos" by Walt Whitman

Bryony Prequel, First Section, Chapter 10: No check. :(

Word Count: Zero.

No, this is not lack of discipline, or I would not be writing this blog today. I did, however, have a hand injury (right hand, no less, sigh!), whose treatment is taking up some of my time, even as I struggle to meet other deadlines. No fear; I will be back at the prequel before too long.

Walt Whitman (1819-1892) seems to be the buzz word lately. One friend is rehearsing a one-man play about Whitman's life; another, who just agreed to do some regular guest-blogging from Bryony, has this poem posted on his Facebook wall. Since it's also one of my favorites, I'm including it here.


Kosmos

WHO includes diversity, and is Nature,
Who is the amplitude of the earth, and the coarseness and sexuality of the earth, and the great charity of the earth, and the equilibrium also,
Who has not look’d forth from the windows, the eyes, for nothing, or whose brain held audience with messengers for nothing;
Who contains believers and disbelievers—Who is the most majestic lover;
Who holds duly his or her triune proportion of realism, spiritualism, and of the aesthetic, or intellectual,	5
Who, having consider’d the Body, finds all its organs and parts good;
Who, out of the theory of the earth, and of his or her body, understands by subtle analogies all other theories,
The theory of a city, a poem, and of the large politics of These States;
Who believes not only in our globe, with its sun and moon, but in other globes, with their suns and moons;
Who, constructing the house of himself or herself, not for a day, but for all time, sees races, eras, dates, generations,	10
The past, the future, dwelling there, like space, inseparable together.

	5

Missing Midnight

No, not my adorable seven-pound black cat by the same name, but rather, my former rising time.

Since last August's surgery and subsequent hive flare-up, as well as the loss of my husband's job, my schedule has taken a subtle shift that has its pros and cons. I go to bed later and rise later (although I'm still delivering newspapers), but I'm missing the quiet, productive hours that came with greeting the new day at the stroke of midnight.

To be sure, the plusses are there. My children, now all teens and young adults, are leading more independent lives, so an early bedtime cuts shortens our dwindling time together. It also means a few helping hands for the housework (Choretime is now in the evening) which had increased proportionately after we added a few members to the house. Also, because of conflicting work schedules, some people can only be interviewed for stories in the evening, a previously impossible task when I'd hit the sack at four o'clock in the afternoon.

And yet...there was something subtly magical about the hissing of the coffee pot in quiet house, the sounds of the night floating through my office window, and the thumping of my cats as they scampered across the roof (My office is in an attic).

That was the perfect time for housework (no interruptions, and no family members making additional messes as quickly as I cleaned up), editing of the previous day's work, and writing vampire stories. Occasionally, now, I'll wake to dawn's early light with the sinking feeling I've wasted half the day.

I'm thinking there might be a way to compromise here. I just have to figure out how to do it.

The Silent Invader

On July 7, we had just returned from dollar bowling and were getting ready for bed when Rebekah, seventeen, showed me a bump near her thumb, just above her wrist.

"Look," she said. "Something bit me."

I looked, but couldn't identify the offender. It sort of resembled a mosquito bite. I doubted a wasp could have nailed without her knowing.

"And it itches."

I yawned and shut off the computer. "Put some CORTAID on it and go to bed. That should take care of it."

The next morning, Rebekah again showed me the bite. It was raised, red, and hard, about a quarter-size around the original bump. A fine, thin line was moving from the site across the back of Rebekah's hand. I called our doctor and asked Timothy, twenty, to run her in. I had to take my husband in the opposite direction to another procedure.

A couple of hours later, Timothy called back. The nurse practitioner that saw Rebekah had hesitated at prescribing an antibiotic, but Timothy, per my instructions, had insisted, just in case. Should he fill the Bacrtim?

"Yes," I said. "Get that first dose in her."

After I settled Ron back at home, I met the kids at the distribution center to help stuff inserts. Because we had such a late start, we were worked until ten o'clock that night. In the meantime, despite the Bactrim, Rebekah's redness slowly traveled away from the original site. The time came for Dose Two. We gave it to her. With a pen, I lightly marked the edges of the wound.

"If the redness moves past it," I said, "I'm taking her to the ER."

But the red stayed confined to its area. The next morning, the swelling had substantially decreased, and the red was fading to pink. We had won.

Or so we thought.

The Bactrim made Rebekah so nauseous, she had difficulty keeping it down. Worse, she had saved up for a four-day cooking class at Joliet Junior College for the following week. By day Tuesday, Rebekah was vomiting. I called the doctor's office and left a message.

"Stop the Bactrim," came the decree from the pipeline.

"She still has more to go," I said. "Should she have different antibiotic?"

"Is it still red?" the voice on the other end asked.

"Not at all," I replied. "It was gone by Day Two."

"Then she's fine. Let us know if it comes back."

It did, late Sunday morning, just before Divine Liturgy began. I had a sore throat, body aches, etc., and had fallen asleep in my desk chair when Rebekeh woke me up to inform me that Fr. Joseph had arrived and was beginning Proskimedia prayers.

"Look," she said, holding out her arm.

The bump was back.

"What the...." I sat upright and pulled her arm closer, shaking my head and examining the silent predator. "I don't like this. If it gets red, we're taking you into Quick Care."

By the end of services, the bump was not only red, a pink line was streaking across the back of her hand. The doctor at Quick Care gave Rebekah a prescription for Keflex and instructions to return if it grew worse.

"This time," he said, "finish the antibiotic. If it makes you sick, we'll switch it. You should have finished the course the last time."

That's what we had thought, too, but that's hindsight.

Rebekah obediently swalled Dose One of Keflex, applied hot compresses in an attempt to localize the infection, but waves of pink pushed away from its home and headed for her wrist. She took Dose Two at eight  o'clock that night, and we drove to the emergency department.

There, a doctor lanced the wound, surprised at the scant amounts of pus it produced, and added clindamycin, with instructions to return if it looked worse. We tumbled into bed at nearly midnight (We had to first deal with an electrical problem at home, oh joy!) and set the alarm at two-thirty for Keflex Dose Three. We had to be on the road with newspapers at four a.m.

When the appointed time arrived, my oldest son Christopher yelled up the stairs. He had found us a sub and paid for it, too!!! Yes, months of colic was well worth it. I fed the cats and fell back asleep.

That brings us to this morning. The redness has now reached her fingers. I have two interviews; Rebekah has a much-anticipated swim lesson. Dose Four of Keflex is in her system, as well as Dose Two of the clindamycin. After her lesson, I'll recheck the wound. If it's still moving, back to the ER we go.

So, what does this have to do with vampires?

Bryony's lead vampire, as a proper vampire, does not reveal himself at once. For weeks, he slithers around Melissa's world, dropping only the merest hints of his presence. Once he's in, even after it appears he has left, he's in with a Herculean grasp on Melissa's heart and psyche.

But you already knew that, didn't you. Else, why have an entire series?

In the Midst of Chaos...

...is joy.

Staff changes, job uncertainty, financial woes, challenging health issues, housework back-up, and skittish technological devices. They clamor for front row life billing, but only because they scream so loudly, like a two-year-old in a tantrum fit.

Yet today has been full of sweet blessings: a personalized song link on Facebook, throwing newspapers to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, a quick ride to the grocery store with my husband, a pleasant voice on the other end of the phone, a mid-morning chat with a good friend, a purring cat jumping into my lap for some loving (and another one, jealous, trying to edge her out), my grandson trailing after my fifteen year old youngest son and chatting away in his pretty toddler voice (and remembering how my son did the same to his oldest siblings), a hot cup of coffee, and a cold mug of ice water.

Life is good. Have a terrific day!!!
Have a wonderful day!!!

Cream Tartar Whey

is supposed to be an excellent dish for those with a fever, according to Miss Beecher's domestic receiptbook: designed as a supplement to her Treatise on domestic economy. Judging from the piles of empty bottles of sports drinks in front of the television, I don't think any of the feverish in my household would agree, but here's the recipe if you know someone more adventurous.
 Warm a pint of fresh milk, when scalding hot, stir in a teaspoon of cream of tartar, and if this does not turn it, add more, till it does. Strain it, and sweeten with loaf sugar. Excuse me while I make the rounds of thermometers, fever reducers, and cough syrup.

Woman Paints Expressions of the Unconscious Mind

That's the title of a beautiful story I read in this morning's newspaper.

http://beaconnews.suntimes.com/lifestyles/3039730-423/eila-grahn-mind-seizures-batavia.html

As much I try to maintain a "chin up" positive attitude, the constant battle with chronic illnesses often attacks my spirit and blunts the creative process. Yesterday, after a flare-up intensified symptoms, I prayed for inspiration and solace. I received both in this story.

You really must read it to get the full scope. It's about a woman that survived a car accident, but now has frequent seizures, despite three trips to Mayo Clinic for answers and medication to control the seizures. Her prognosis is poor--the seizures may eventually kill her--but she's turned her dreadful experiences into a unique opportunity: she's painting what she sees in the midst of them.

By doing so, she hopes to better understand her medical condition, but also to appreciate the beauty she views while caught in its throes. Her story left me speechless and, yes, very much inspired.

If You Think the Flu is Bad...

...try battling the bubonic plague, as did one of the vampires claimed to have done in Bryony.

According to en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bubonic_plague, symptoms first occured two to five days after exposure and included:

* Chills
* General ill feeling (malaise)
* High fever
* Muscle pain
* Severe headache
* Seizures
* Smooth, painful lymph gland swelling called a bubo. These may be found in the groin, but may occur in the armpits or neck, most often at the site of the initial infection (bite or scratch). Pain may occur in the area before the swelling appears
* Heavy breathing
* Continuous blood vomiting
* Urination of blood
* Aching limbs
* Coughing
* Extreme pain. The pain is usually caused by the decaying or decomposing of the skin while the victim is still alive
* Extreme tiredness
* Gastrointestinal problems
* Lenticulae (black dots scattered throughout the body)
* Delirium
* Coma

Chicken soup, which helped Melissa when she was sick, won't fix this one. Which is worse, the bite of an infected rodent or the same from a vampire?

Denise M. Baran-Unland