As I sit at the dining room table, drifting in and out of sleep due to my MRSA drugs, Yaw sits with one had moving back and forth between his "broken" iPhone and his laptop, busily working to download things that didn't come with his phone. His other hand is braced around the stem of the glass of wine I gave him. I would join him but the Cipro won't allow it.

I note out loud during one of my lucid moments that it looks like he is holding the wine glass as his life line, and I ask if he needs more blood poured into it. He laughs at my comment, but neither sets the glass down, nor requests more wine.

I drop back into a doze for a few more minutes, only to wake again to the sound of Mr. Bond hissing and snorting because he thinks Tristan is downstairs. Tristan is actually upstairs, comatose where his mother left him. I tell Mr. Bond to stop being a jerk and drift away again.

It's all I can do to stay awake until the next time I have to take the Cipro. Thank goodness it's only a 10-day prescription. I would really, REALLY like to shave again, but Dr. Blue Eyes says absolutely not. Sigh.

The MRSA is a vicious form of staph infection that is resistant to typical meds for staph. I happen to have acquired it somewhere, somehow. Which is what all the recent comments about my armpit ick are coming from. If I've peaked your curiosity, poke around on the CDC and Mayo Clinic websites and search MRSA. Lots of good info on both sites. I am now on my third batch of antibiotics and have graduated all the way to Cipro, which--by the way--is the same one they give you for Anthrax. Now, isn't that comforting? I'm not sure what the next one in line is, and I hope I don't find out. Enough is enough! I want my armpit back!