SOME memories never leave you, but pop into your head from time to time to remind you how unlucky you were.

Or, indeed, how lucky.

I recall vividly a situation from a few years ago (though segments will always be a mystery to me) when I was very lucky indeed.

On the Saturday morning I felt pretty good. A weekend off. Took my son to football. Watched a decent win.

Felt a vague itch in my right underarm.

Never thought anything of it; I’ve had itchy skin almost all my life.

Sunday took daughter the hour’s drive back to university, which is always emotional, but the ache in my heart was trumped by the throbbing in my arm.

Sunday evening I thought it looked a little red where I had scratched it, but nothing to write home about.

As usual, Monday was full on; a real exhausting whirlwind of a day and progressively I felt it was taking an exceptional amount out of me.

Every consultation seemed to suck some breath away.

Every operation depleted my energy levels.

By the time my son arrived at the surgery fresh from school, I was beat. I think the technical term is knackered. I was running on empty.

Nevertheless, I drove him across town to football training, but slept in the car as he ran, instead of watching, and collapsed into bed as soon as we got home.

Tuesday is a bit of a bad dream. I was aware of a thumping headache and pain in my right arm and left leg and was obviously concerned about the discoloured swelling that had appeared, as I had marked it out on my leg with a black marker pen.

Though I don’t remember doing that, such was the delirium.

Wednesday brought medical intervention, good old antibiotics and a slow recovery from impending sepsis. I might have lost my leg. Or arm. Or worse.

Closer inspection of the original wound in my arm showed the probable cause.

Imbedded there in the heart of the redness were tick mouthparts.

I recalled Friday evening, when a stray cat had been brought to the surgery covered in literally hundreds of tiny ticks. My guess is one crawled up under my lab coat and attached itself to me.

I probably scratched it off on Saturday morning, leaving the foreign material behind. I then scratched the infection from there to my thigh. The rest, as they say, is history.

And that is the trouble with nasty infections in humans and in our pets.

While we all worry about Lyme Disease, we forget that bacteria are everywhere and can attack at any time.

Simple wounds can rapidly turn into massive areas of dead tissue.

A pin prick can allow bugs to enter the bloodstream with disastrous consequences.

A seemingly insignificant scratch can quickly become red, then swell, then turn black.

Early recognition of sepsis (lethargy, inappetance, fever, disorientation, abnormal swelling or discolouration) is vital if treatment is to be successful.

And, in case you were wondering, the cat with hundreds of ticks?

Absolutely fine!