Last Friday, I went to see my local GP about a rather annoying sebaceous cyst in my right shoulder. It was inflamed and sore, and had already been there for a week, so he put me on flucloxacillin, 2g per day. Jump to Wednesday morning, nothing much has happened, though the rate of growth has slowed – I see a different doctor at the practice in the morning just have it checked, and she says to continue the antibiotics until Friday anyway, at which point she’ll book a surgeon to lance it if it hasn’t change.

Wednesday night, it was a good bit larger than Wednesday morning, and I had hell getting to sleep. Rang the practice at 8:00 AM, got an appointment with the first doctor I saw at 8:40 AM. At 8:50 he asks me what I had planned for the rest of the day – ‘Surgery?’. By 8:55 AM he was on the phone to the on-call surgeon at A&E, and then the bed manager. By 9:05 I’m out the door of the practice with a letter in my hand, and by 9:20 I’m seeing the triage nurse for admission to A&E.

A painful event
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