I’ve read Blood Music. I know when some part of my body starts to unexpectedly transform, bad things are about to happen.  What do you know, I’m now the proud host of a thriving Staph infection. They’re partying on the back of my thigh, in the meaty part you actually sit on when using such common household furnishings as a chair. It will get much, much worse before it gets better.
 
At first I thought it was a spider bite. Four days later, I thought it might be a necrotic spider bite. When it grew larger than a baseball, it was time to see a doctor. Now, I’m on two kinds of antibiotics and have been informed that if those and the home remedy treatments don’t clear it up in a week, I get to go to the hospital. “But,” I asked the doctor, “Don’t hospitals breed antibiotic resistant strains of Staph?”
 
“Ironic, isn’t it? Do it anyway. It’s probably fine, but if it’s not, it could kill you.” 

 Thanks, doc. That’s just the reassurance I needed. If my leg does not erupt in a massive and painful burst of pus in a week, I may need intraveinous antibiotics. What part of that sentence isn’t supposed to freak me out?
 
I wish it was a necrotic spider bite. At least then I could fantasize my body was slowly developing superpowers.