Clothes shopping was always something I hated, I loved new clothes but, hated trying them on; though if I didn’t try on the clothes I would have found the bump a lot later, which could have led to a grave situation.
“Nana I have a weird thing on my knee.” I said while sitting, trying to give my feet a break from all the walking.
“Let me see,” she says grabbing my leg to look at it, a confused and concerned expression became plastered on her face.

“How about we leave that alone for now and tell your parents later on” she released my leg and walked away, the look not leaving her face for quite some time. She found a pair of skinny jeans that stretched and the looked faded away as she tossed them to me saying for me to try them on. Skinny jeans or as I call them death contraptions. I reluctantly went to the dressing room and tried them out, quickly I stepped out and said “I don’t like this,” “but you look so good in them,” “I’ve said time and time again I prefer bootcut,” with that I turned around and took off those god-awful things; I looked at my knee. The bump, gone. Clear stuff, which I shall learn to be puss, came out like a river.

“Nana… The bump popped. I think the skinny jeans did it,” I called out “let me see,” she replied, so I put on my loose pants, stepped out, and rolled up the leg and showed her. Quickly she pulled out a band-aid from her purse and covered it. “You should see a doctor the moment you can,” she told me and we left. We told my parents and they just shrugged it off and I kept a band-aid and antibiotics on it. Two weeks passed by and it didn’t scab up nor stop bleeding or oozing now yellowish puss. Finally I went to the doctors.

I didn’t know what to expect. I know what I was told I never would have thought of. I was told it was MRSA, early stages, I was lucky and it was good that the bump did pop; it could have been a lot worse if it didn’t. What is MRSA now? It is known to be a “super-bug” and is extremely hard to kill, and it usually kills, that's all you need to know. Where the infection was though it wouldn’t kill me unless it traveled through my body, though I could lose my leg. They gave me stahp-killing antibiotics that I had to take, I will take it for two weeks then come back. It was supposed to help. It didn’t work. It got worse. It was tunnelling through my leg like ants.

After awhile I went and saw a lot of specialists. All of them had different ideas and different treatments. A year passed, the infection spread down to my ankle. We were running out of options, I was going into surgery to have all the infected area from the outer layer to the bone. This we hoped to be the end of it as the only other option left besides that was endless medication that could make me immune to the medication in the future and it would lower my immune system drastically once I was off of it. I remember the doctors saying something and then everything went dark, then I woke, in the corner was a lady I don’t remember what she said, if I heard it at all before I slipped back into darkness. Next time I woke up my dad was carrying me to the car, I got buckled in, say goodbye to my dad, and fell asleep on the ride to my mom’s house. For the next three days I spent going in and out of consciousness, crawling to the bathroom as my leg was in a lot of pain and would give out each time I tried to use it. I remember when I first woke up my mind didn’t think much, I couldn’t get up, I knew that much, still I tried. I fell.

I had to release my bladder. I had to move again. I grabbed onto the carpet and pulled. I pulled my way out of my room, and into the bathroom. Lucky for me the sink was right next to the toilet so it was easier to pull myself up to it and relieve myself and then wash my hands. Then I had to start the journey back to my mattress that was removed from my bed and put into the floor so I could reach it easier. For three days I did that. Three days I crawled like a zombie whose legs rotted off. Three days I felt weak. Three days each time I stand it always ended in me falling back to the ground. Three days I spent slipping in and out of conscious, always letting the darkness swallow me whole. Finally the fourth day I could stand and lean on the wall and walk.

The surgery was supposed to get rid of it. I had everything in all the way to the bone gone and at least an inch around it cut out. Somehow they didn’t get all of the infected area out, I was still contaminated. Our only option left, endless medication. This lasted for 2 months. Finally the thing was gone, or at least for now, I was told it might permanently be in my blood system and I can get it again at any point in my life. After those two months I was left with a weaken immune system, I was on and off sick for the next year, but I was glad to be gone of that skin eating bacteria.