What started out as a small bump that resembled an ant bite morphed into a flesh eating staph infection in a matter of days. 

I was 16, and spring break was fast approaching. I had a small bump on my left arm, almost on my shoulder, that I barely noticed because it looked incredibly benign. I did notice that my left shoulder was a little sore when someone brushed past me in the hallway, but it seemed a small matter at the time. 

A few days later, I could only lift my arm above my head if I circled it behind me, and even then it hurt. The next day, I realized my arm was red and swollen from my shoulder to my elbow and I had a hole in my arm somewhere between the size of a dime and the size of a nickel filled with what was obviously nasty infection. Soon after I discovered this, I filled a cup with sweet tea-the beverage of the south-and sat down while my mom finished up the dinner she already had on the stove so we could head for the emergency room. Somewhere in this process, I managed to dump the entire cup off the table onto the floor beside the chair in the most annoying corner of the house to clean. I immediately burst into tears and started emitting the most horrible sobs. My mom became even more concerned since I never cry, but she was trying to do the mom thing and calm me down and tell me that it is okay. I eventually calmed down and realized how stupid it was to cry over a cup of tea, even if it was the last of the sweet tea, at which point I started laughing-quite possibly the hardest I have ever laughed.

That night I found myself in the emergency room as the doctor tried to remedy what we all believed to be a spider bite. This, of course, was after they had used a green sharpie to mark how far down my arm was swollen and put iodine around the 'bite' area turning my arm into an ugly work of abstract art. 

Unfortunately, what they tried originally did not work so well, so I found myself back at the emergency room the next day, and later that night, I was admitted to the hospital. That second night was probably the worst. The doctor said she was bringing in a surgeon, which terrified me and had me in a new bout of tears. This surgeon decided to have me get an MRI, which I had never had done before. It was right around this time that I started realizing how awkward admission to the hospital actually is.

Before the MRI, they had to ask me a series of questions including if there was a chance that I could be pregnant and if I had a metal plate in my head. While these questions are necessary they caught me off guard. These questions only got worse when I went through the excruciatingly long survey of questions they ask for admission. It was also incredibly awkward having the hospital ask me questions relating to sex while my mom was standing in the room. Granted, I had nothing to hide from her, and my family has always been open about that subject, but it definitely caught me off guard. 

Over five days in that hospital, I actually enjoyed being able to chill and not worry about school and washing dishes, but I found myself irritated, yet amused, by how the hospital runs. For instance, when my IV has run out and I paged the nurses station to tell them that it has run out and the machine is beeping, I would always be told that they would tell my nurse. On more than one occasion I dealt with that incessant beeping for 10 minutes before it turned into a long, steady, very loud beep. It was interesting how fast a nurse showed up to cut the machine off then. 

My biggest issue while I was in the hospital, though, is what I now find the most hilarious. Here's the thing about hospitals-when they say they want you to get some rest, they're either lying or stupid, because you cannot rest in the hospital. Between the nurses, doctors, cleaning people, visitors, and maybe the even chaplain coming in back and forth all day,  nurses coming in to check your vitals at every shift change, really early breakfast times, and really late IV or other medication times, you can't get any sleep. But, just in case you manage to get to sleep around midnight and hope to sleep until shift change at 5 or 6 the next morning, they have the nurses assistants come in at 3am to refill the water pitcher with ice.

But for all the policies the hospital had to go by, and everything that I found ridiculous or amusing, and the terror of a staph infection in my shoulder that I still have the scar to prove, I really just have one question...why the fuck do I need ice at 3 am and, apparently, only at 3 am?