My doctor pulled a one-inch splinter out of the back of my thigh today. I got it from a bench at the Japanese garden in Hermann Park when I slid right on a bench to make room for Clara. Dr. Knafo prescribed antibiotics in case of a staph infection, but I haven't taken them yet because I'm thinking that maybe my body will heal itself alright. Because I'm nursing, I would have to take clindimycin, 4 pills a day for 10 days. That's a lot of antibiotic-taking. My other doctor friend tells me that I might not have to take them; the body does a good job of healing itself. The foreign object is out; the wound was cleaned. Who knows.
I swear some days I feel like I'm literally falling apart.
I remember a time before this...this...what is it? Middle age? a time before middle age when the thought of my body falling apart dwelled in another universe. I trashed my body by drinking and smoking, and I thought nothing of it. I remember hearing people say, "the body is a temple," and I was like "what? whatever!" Now I think about the fact that my body is a temple, a temple for my life.
If I trash it, then where will I live?