However, there was some sort of mix-up at the pharmacy and they wouldn't renew my metformin scrpt until, oh, this Tuesday.
I had two pills left. I take two a day. We found this out on Friday. I'm in good control, I have other meds and it's not life threatening, so the plan was to call my doctor, whose office has hours on Sunday, get an emergency prescription at a local pharmacy and that would be that.
Except that when I called them this morning, they said for me to go in. Half hour later, after a hasty breakfast and no coffee (still no coffee - let me remedy that...ahh. Coffee.) I walked in, got my vitals (normal temp, bp 130/90, weight - two pounds less than last time, which is better than I expected). I saw my doctor's partner, not my doctor, but that's okay. I like Jed better, but Dr. D is fine. Got the new script and got my stitches removed. I'm due for my three-month check up, so I was told to come in on Thursday fasting and with my bladder full, and he gave me a lab slip.
This is not something I've done at all recently, so, huh. I usually just get blood tests.
Anyway, as he rebandaged my knee (after a fruitless hunt for Bacitracin ("What sort of doctor's office are we, with no Bacitracin?")), I remarked that it's amazing it never got infected. This, btw, is true. I tore a nice flap out of my skin, I did it on a filthy subway grate and I delayed real treatment for hours. Plus it stayed pretty raw for over a week. And with all of that - not one sign of infection. I attributed it to luck and treatment, including using the antibiotic ointment and keeping it covered.
Dr. Daily said it was because I managed my diabetes well.
Huh. Back in high school, in the seventies, I'd skin my knee and it would get infected immediately no matter what I did.
Did we not have antibiotic ointment in the seventies? Because now that I think about, all the school nurse ever did was Bactine.