Day three after my fall at the hot tub aboard the cruise ship, Adventure Of The Seas, my elbow and forearm are still swollen and tender. It could be just bruising or it could be an infection; the ship’s Columbian doctors are not sure yet. I’m hope that their training is as rigorous as in the United States. I’m guessing that even if it’s a little substandard, they can probably handle a few stitches and an infection. They have me taking antibiotics, which should keep the situation under control. Still, I’m a little worried.
Every few minutes I examine the boundaries of my red flesh, trying to determine if infection is spreading or abating. Kellie keeps admonishing me to stop obsessing about it. For years she has accused me of having obsessive-compulsive disorder, and if she really believed her own words, she would realize that those so afflicted cannot control their own behavior, hence the OCD label. No matter. I tell her that I’m not particularly concerned about the injury. The cut only needed two stitches and will quickly heal. The bruised bone make take a little longer to recover, but I’m not expecting any lasting effects from either injury. What concerns me is the infection. People have been known to loose limbs and sometimes die from stupid little cuts that become infected. I reminded Kellie that if I die, my military pension ceases, but she is not the least bit perturbed. As she is putting on some makeup, she nonchalantly declares, “If you die from that cut, I figure that I’ll own this cruise ship.”