So last Friday I noticed a pain in the little ol’ mound that collects above the pubic area disproportionately on fatasses. I didn’t think much of it at first, but it quickly grew into a lump, and by Sunday it was the size of a couple of golf balls. I assumed something that expanded that quickly must be a blister rapidly filling with blood, or something — and, indeed, as it got close to the skin it looked pretty red. It would start to dissipate on its own any time now, I was sure. But it kept getting bigger every day, until Tuesday night I was ready to drive to the emergency room. It was twice as big as it had been on Sunday, and at least twice as painful.

But I decided to wait until the next day — it probably wasn’t life-threatening, and I’ve heard insurance companies can be very skeptical about the necessity of emergency-room visits. So I went to see a regular doctor. From my description of the symptoms, he said he assumed it was a hernia. But once I showed him, he immediately diagnosed it as cellulitis. It’s no fun, but I was at least relieved I didn’t have a cancerous front-butt tumor or something.

Anyhoo, I’m now here on the second night of the first hospital stay of my life, hooked up to an IV and watching a censored-for-TV version of GoodFellas on TBS. TiVo has almost made me forget what it’s like to sit through commercials. The good people at Mercy are taking great care of me, but wow, I’m ready to get out of here . . .