You scratch my back and I promise to never touch yours.

Not yesterday but the Sunday before, Housemate-Anna and I were sitting in the living room watching TV when I was suddenly overcome with an almighty itch on the bottom of my left foot. 

Not being able to resist a good scratch I absent mindedly put my nails to my skin and felt that almighty rush of satisfaction that can only come from scratching away a big itch. 

Housemate-Anna disappeared to the loo and I continued to scratch away. However suddenly the deep sense of satisfaction started to ebb away and in its place was a slight stinging sensation. I looked down and gawked in dismay as I realised I had scraped a significant patch of skin off my foot. 

Whilst I was still trying to get my head around the fact that I had unknowingly caused such damage to my foot, that slight sting began to grow... And grow... And grow. Suddenly I was experiencing pain unlike I had ever felt before. This of course just added more confusion to the situation as I still couldn't understand how this had even happened. 

The pain continued to grow until I had no chance but to yelp out in pain. 

"Lisa?" Housemate-Anna called out. "Are you okay?"

"Uhuh!" I just about yelped as the pain  grew to such a level that I had to jump up and move around just to give my body something else to do other than focus on it. 

Of course this just made it worse as I inadvertently put weight on the bizarre wound. This led to another yelp and me stumbling over our coffee table in a half hopping fashion, causing several items to fall onto the floor. 

I hopped/stumbled to the kitchen as fast as I could, grabbed a bag of frozen vegetables from our freezer and hobbled back to the living room, leaping over the coffee table and collapsing back onto or sofa again. 

Housemate-Anna returned back into the living room at this point and threw me a highly baffled look. There I sat, in exactly the same spot as she left me, except now my face was hot and sweaty, a manic look of pain flashed through my eyes, the contents on the coffee table were all over the floor and a bag of frozen vegetables was resting on my foot. 

"I was only gone two minutes!" Housemate-Anna said. 

"It hurts Anna, it hurts really bad."

"What did you do?"

"I don't know!" I cried out. 

For the rest of the night I was actually writhing around in the worst pain I have ever felt. Ever. Now this either means it was really painful or I've just never experienced real pain before... In my entire 26 years. 

Housemate-Anna helped me hobble to bed. She also got up at half one when the pain got worse again and she heard me running for the frozen vegetables once more (yeah, she's pretty awesome and, no, you can't have her, I found her first). She sat on my bed with me and talked about crap until the pain went away then finally I fell asleep. 

The next morning the pain was a lot better. I could just about walk on it so I went to work as per usual. I did the same thing Tuesday as well. 

Then Tuesday night, that same pain, the one that I'm pretty convinced is only reserved to those who are dying,  started to flare up again. 

I went to bed and fell asleep. I was then awoken by my foot pain four times in the night. By the time morning came I had woken up in a massive sweat. Not glistening as ladies quite often do... No, I was soaking wet. 

It was about this time that I figured there was something more sinister going on that a bag of frozen vegetables wouldn't be able to fix. I went to my GP and was informed that the mysterious appearing wound was now very infected and I would need to take antibiotics for the next week... I know... I have no clue what happened but I figured I'd be even more baffled if I ended up losing my foot to gangrene because of it. 

Antibiotics pretty much cleared it up but that was the drama of my stupid reactive body last week... It has always tended to have a mind of its own.

Oh and in case you were wondering where I was last week, you can blame Suzanne Collins and her Hunger Games for that one. I was in the land of Panem struggling with the huge question she poses in her books... Peeta or Gale? 

...

What? There's a deeper meaning to the whole thing than that? Really? Hang on, I'll read it again... See you in a weeks time. 

Peace out my lovelies.