>LOCKJAW!

>I know you were wondering where I’ve been. Well, we had a little, erm, lockjaw scare. But don’t worry. Everything’s fine.

Two days ago, I paid a visit to our family doctor. My husband forced me to go after three weeks of hearing me complain about a large scrape on my knee that won’t heal.

“You have to go,” he said. “We’re going skiing next week. I want this thing cleared up.”

“But I don’t have anyone to watch the baby,” I whined.

“I’ll stay home and watch the baby.”

“But he’ll give me a shot.”

“No he won’t. He’ll give you a topical antibiotic.”

In the examining room a few days later, the doctor got right to the point.

“I’m going to give you an oral antibiotic and a cream to put on the wound,” he said. “And you need a tetanus shot. Unless you’ve had one in the last ten years.”

Fuck. “Oh, yeah. I’ve had one pretty recently, actually.”

“When?”

“I don’t remember exactly. But I definitely remember getting one. I was in high school and it hurt like hell.” High school? You fool! Why did you say high school?! Doh!

The doctor chuckled. “High school? You need a tetanus shot.”

The shot itself didn’t hurt at all. And for the rest of the day, I was fine. But when I woke up the next morning, my shoulder hurt. By late afternoon yesterday, it was fucking killing me. And by evening, I was a drooling, feverish vegetable moaning on the Barcolounger.

Hubs hovered nervously over me. “I’m going to look up ‘tetanus vaccine side effects’ on the Internet,” he said.

“Aaaaaghadaaaag,” I replied.

In a few minutes, he came back, his brow furrowed in concern. “The vaccination side effects are supposed to be pretty mild,” he said, “But didn’t you tell me your neck hurt?”

“Yeah.”

“And you have a fever. And what about your jaw? Does your jaw feel stiff? Because I think you might have lockjaw. It’s caused by tetanus.”

“Lockjaw?! Hubs, you can’t get tetanus from the tetanus vaccine.“

“But I think you may have gotten the vaccination too late. You already had gotten tetanus from the scrape. And now, you have lockjaw. I’m going to watch you very closely. I think you should go to bed. And if you can’t move your jaw, tell me immediately. Or you could die. “

I climbed in bed, shivering, and dazedly imagined myself skiing in a few days. Although I’d bought some expensive ski pants and borrowed a really cute jacket from a friend, the entire effect would be ruined by my unsightly jaw, locked open in a perpetual silent scream. I’d choke on snow and immediately fall right onto the wound on my knee that won’t heal. For the rest of the week, I’d stumble around the lodge, gimp-legged and open-mouthed, avoided and whispered about by all the other stylish guests.

Lockjaw. Fuck. Why me?

Fortunately, I woke up this morning fever-free and jaw mercifully unlocked. Hubs frankly seemed a bit disappointed that he wouldn’t be called upon to rush his lockjawed wife to the hospital. But when I told him my neck was still stiff just now on the phone, he had some encouraging words.

“You don’t have a crazy grin, do you?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I read a lot about lockjaw last night. The first sign is neck stiffness and a crazy grin that won’t go away. Three days later, you’re dead.”

I laughed. “Yeah, right.”

“I am totally serious.”

“But if I have a crazy grin, I’ll just go to the hospital and they’ll cure me.”

“They’ll try. You’ll have to stay there 4-6 weeks and they’ll cut the wound open and keep it open that entire time.”

“Ewwwww!”

“We’ve got to keep close tabs on this, Lucinda. I mean it.”

Now I’m checking the mirror every five minutes, just to make sure a maniacal smile isn’t plastered across my face. Damn. If I have lockjaw, I will be sooooo pissed…