what the heck, why not.

Nice Doctor Lady: (enters room, looks at me, then back at my chart again) says "**Wow, you're aweful small and skinny to have diabetes**!"
**I need a cute southern drawl font right here. I'm sure you won't imagine it as cute as hers but still try**
Me: (thought in my head) I know! (actully said) ______nothing.
Nice Doctor Lady: (continues...)"**what's that about**?"
Me: "uh...I don't know..." (thought) I actually came here to see you about my finger that's blimping up like a cherry tomato, but since you bring it up I've wondered myself...maybe you could tell me since you're the doctor?

Certainly, not the first time I've gotten that, though you'd think I'd have a better response that being the case...

Thankfully, even though she didn't help me solve the mystery of the skinny girl who should be fat cuz hur body plumb dern't know what to do with food, the nice doctor lady was able to jab my finger with what I was sure was a very sharp, very pointy needle the size of a kabob skewer (no numbing mind you, yeah I'm brave).  Following the epic jabbing my wonderful (sugar laden) blood and the culprit of it all: the bacteria laced puss, came a'flowin.

Never was I so happy to be lanced with a needle, or have my finger painfully wrenched on. You will hopefully be happy to hear that my finger it now returning to it's former non-cherry tomato self size and I'm happy...with my finger intervention that is.  I'll get there someday with the other hulabaloo.