Frank L. of Atlanta was a forty something year old man who wasn't afraid of anything (or so he told everyone). He was a rough and tumble kind of guy. He'd spent most of his life working to pull junk out from crawl spaces and gut homes. Spiders were nothing new to him.
One cold morning , he woke up to a throbbing pain on his face. It felt like his cheek was on fire. He threw the thin sheet off that he usually wore to bed and faltered to the bathroom. Sure enough, a red, swollen bump the size of a quarter sat on his cheek. He groaned, remembering vaguely slapping something that had been crawling across his face that night. It was just a spider bite, so he decided to head to work.
Several hours later, the bite turned pale and a red ring formed around it. He continued to work as usual, until a coworker worriedly asked him about the blister on his face.
"Blister?" Frank rushed to the bathroom. Sure enough, the bite had turned into a nasty blister. Not being a fan of hospitals or doctors, he decided to let it take its natural course.
The following day, the infected skin turned blue, then black, and deteriorated rapidly throughout that week. After being told by his coworkers and family repeatedly to go to the doctor, he finally gave in and visited urgent care at a local hospital. Luckily, the rotting wound wasn't much bigger than a dime, but the dame had gone deep, and he was informed that the scar could remain for the rest of his life.
If Frank hadn't gone to the hospital, it's possible that he could have died from the infection. It's closeness to his brain could have also been fatal.
His was a less severe version of a brown recluse bite.
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