None But Eagles

My left wrist and most of my forearm have swelled up. I’ve taken half a box of allergy medication in the last 24 hours. I’ve been cycling through the three ice packs we have in the freezer. My arm feels like an uncooked sausage. The tightness of the skin is quietly excruciating. It’s better than yesterday, when it was an angry pink colour and I thought I might be in the process of transforming into some horrific clown version of myself that had until now been successfully repressed but has been liberated by whatever it is that I’m having this reaction to. The swelling has gone down somewhat, but the drugs are making me woozy. I feel like a moose, my head swinging from side to side, trying to focus. I’ve been able to knit with an ice pack tied around my wrist, so I finished the fingerless gloves. I’m waiting for them to dry post-blocking before I sew the sides together and see just how much they fail at being what I wanted them to be. I already know some of what I did wrong.