I don't think I've shared this story.

Let's go back to.. uh.. 1996-1997 (excuse me for a moment while I freak the fuck out... THIS STORY TAKES PLACE NEARLY TWENTY YEARS AGO! Dammit.  I feel old).

I was in seventh grade.  I had a blue quilt on my bed.  I decided to repair said quilt where the seams were ripping, while leaving it still on my bed.  And then I got up to do something, forgot that I'd been sewing, laid back down on the bed, and felt a pinch of pain.

When I got up again, my leg fell from out under me.  And then the pain hit.  I remember yelling and my brother giving me support as we shuffled to my mom.  And then all three of us shuffled back to my bedroom to look at the bed.  The sewing needle had split in half, launching part of it into the muscle of my thigh.

My parents took me to the emergency room (foreign body!) because my dad was particularly concerned about infection or me getting hit while playing soccer or falling off a horse.  The Army doctors pulled up xrays and, chuckling to themselves, said that there wasn't anything to be done about it and that if they attempted to remove it, it'd be like "finding a needle in a haystack."  Har, har, har.

They told me that eventually, it would work itself out.

The point of this story is to say that, to this day, I still have half of a sewing needle lodged in the muscle of my thigh.  Which is fine.  Except lately it's started to randomly throb.  Also, "work itself out"?  WTF would that look like?  Would it be like an ingrown hair or would the entire length travel to the surface and would I have to ask D to kindly chop into my leg to grab it?

A few years ago, at the vet clinic, we had a slow night and took a rad of it.  Which my husband then used as a rotating header on his blog.