August 30th, the night of Jessica Smith's birthday party, I went out and had 4 beers. The next day I woke, commented on how GREAT I truly felt and 15 minutes later, I was on the floor, teeth chattering, with the chills. A full-blown infection had come over me. Chuckie was looking at me with the oh-please-look that he saves for moments when I'm in the most pain; moments such as during labor, child-birth, flus and other ailments. Under the covers by now and terrified by the quickness with which the feeling of death was coming over me, we called the nurse line and she said I needed a hot bath and antibiotics. Why do we get the sickest on the weekend? I had to live with my large, swollen boob for a full 48 hours before anything would make it better. Not to mention, the boob is connected to the chest and thereby connected to the arms, so no lifting of any sort was impossible. It hurt to move my fingers, it killed me to walk. Chuck had to take 2 days off work and clean everything I normally do. Needless to say he was not a happy camper 3 days in. It's only a little funny that I had to get infected to get any rest around here.