Live Blogging . .

From Louis A Weiss memorial hospital. Exam room 7.

Here's how it starts. You start developing a recurring ocular cellulitis - a puffiness in the eyelid. You keep going back to the ophthalmologist who prescribes the same treatment each time. Medicated eye drops and three doses of the antibiotic cephahexlin. So when the problem recently felt like it was going to arise, I took he same treatment. Applying the eye drops and antibiotic from the last bout.

This was at 745am. This morning. I tell The girlfriend I'm feeling a little itchy as we walk to the car. In circling the block, the skin of my face feels taut. I glance in the mirror and see my face is red. I hope the girlfriend won't notice. "oh my god why is your face red" ok. She noticed. I tell her I'm going to drop her off at the station and go back home. She insists I go to the hospital. I don't put up a fight. She wants to come with but I know this going to get uglier and i don't want her to see it. I leave her at argyle and broadway.

Here's where we are, dear reader. Driving down Wilson with a shirt half ripped apart using a student ID to scrape off the top layer of skin. A series of small bumps rise up after. Everything is red. Everything itches. My face is one massive swollen hive. The eyelids are inflated and hold a piqued interest. I study every line in my face, every pore wondering if that was there before. My slacks are undone and I claw away at my junk. Giving no regard to the busy pedestrian traffic walking directly in front of me staring in disgust at the shirtless red man who looks like he's jacking off. This is why im glad the girlfriend is not here. People would think she condones this sort of thing.

I get to the hospital only to find it's no longer a hospital but an office complex.

I get back in my car. There's a shortness of breath. I tell myself it's the anxiety and to calm down. it'll go away. But then the image of my airway constricting makes me panic. I feel my heart pound and the shortness resumes. I do this for the entire drive. Logic at some point suggests I take a cab the remainder of the way. The thought of having to interact with people puts the kabbosh on that one. I arrive at Louis Weiss. I circle the place trying to find an er lot. No dice. I park on the garage and climb down three levels all the while thinking about that stressed airway.

I bypass security and go to the front desk. I find that I can only speak in short bursts of words. Imhavinganallergicreaction . . . tocephahexlinandeverything. . . itches.

They got me In right away and stripped me. The curtain was open but I didnt care. I disrobe as the nurse rushed to close the curtain. I just need to get out of these clothes. I want to stop their rubbing against the skin and I want to see the extent of the damage. It was bad. Great blotches of red everywhere. The skin rose in hives from my toes to my neck. What looked like blisters filled with blood lined my arms and chest. I lie down. With the skin exposed, i just want to scratch everything. I cross my arms tightly. Hoping that I can will the urge away. The swelling in my eyelid is now visible to me.

To keep my mind off the urge, I get out my phone and start writing these words. It keep my hands busy.

Now I'm home. Wrapping this story up in the past tense.

The Girlfriend is doing her work in the adjoining office/study while I lay on the couch watching an SVU Marathon courtesy of PS3 Netflix Instant Streaming. She's mad at herself for not forcing herself to come with me to the hospital. Again, all she would have been able to do was worry sick over how I was turning, and tell me to stop scratching my dick in public.

I think I was attended to by the world's worst doctor. He asks what happened. I tell him I self-prescribed myself two capsules of a months old anti-biotic. That I recall a similar "itchy" feeling when I took it before. And that I had uncles who died as children after being given penicillin, leading my dad to always be sure to note that to doctors when we where younger. The doc shakes his head I don't think that's it. I'm taken back by that. Nothing else has changed, I say. The only thing i've eaten in the last 48-hours is a steamable. No colognes. No new soaps -I haven't had the chance to shower in three days. I even wore these same clothes earlier this week. He can't believe that a medicine I took before would now do this. (I think this is the same doctor that told my friend it's impossible to be allergic to fish.)

After 20 minutes, the medications kicked in. The swelling and blisters went down. My face felt less taut. There's still some soreness, but before, it felt like I had botox injected into every pore of my face.

I was discharged after an hour or supervision. I still feel a little off. And my skin is sensitive - a product of all the scratching. The girlfriend says I look pale and I'm sure I do. I should take a shower to get this stink of the ER off of me.

But there is so much more Law and Order: SVU to watch. This is the only Law and Order spin-off I like. The rest, garbage.