You might have been wondering what happened to me since no regular blog post appeared. “Did Alice get a life?” you might ask. Or “Alice writes a blog?” Or “Who is Alice?”
I have been sick, readers. And I don’t mean the garden variety plain old sick either. I mean super double dog sick that is very very bad. So how did you manage to pump out semi coherent blog posts, Alice? I had them prescheduled in a flash of writing ideas. And they ran out Sunday.
I am out of sick leave, so I have had to use vacation leave for this little trip. A vacation to the land of the Mucus People. I don’t recommend it. Very unsanitary and just look at the locals.
Anyway, I’ve been vacationing here since Thursday, and it is now Tuesday, and I’m hoping that maybe I get to go home soon. Either that, or die. Allow me to detail my itinerary.
Thursday Eve: Fever goes up. Go to bathroom. Feel nauseous. Lie on bathroom floor until it passes.Friday: Go to doctor. Stand while receptionist takes phone calls and asks for my insurance and teaches other receptionist how to use the computer. Ponder whether I can keep from barfing on her while she does this. Finally decide to go sit down. Office was recently redesigned with chairs that absolutely no one could ever find comfortable. Good move there.
Called back. Nurse checks vitals. Of course this is not my regular nurse, because my regular doctor is rarely available when I am sick. My fever supposedly has gone down to normal. She also checks my oxygen levels with this strange clamp on my finger. I’m not sure how this works. Do fingers breathe now? Good news. My oxygen rocks. This always happens. My body fails me until I get to the doctor, when it makes a brief valient recovery before collapsing again immediately afterward. Below: My lungs.
I am tested with magical Q-tips for Flu and Strep Throat. One went in my throat and the other up my nose. I wonder if they ever get these mixed up. Turns out I don’t have Flu or Strep. The doctor notes that I am still sick because I look puny which is Doctor-speak for “You look like you got run over by a truck.”
Antibiotics are called in. The second in two weeks. Pretty soon they will run out of alien-planet sounding names for pills. This one is called Bactrin, I think. Or it might have been Betazoid. No, wait, that one really is a planet in Star Trek.
I have become reacquainted with the T.V. and wow I have been missing so much. Like Wipeout, the adult answer to Double Dare, only without the pretense of any intellectualism by disregarding those trivia questions.
I think Wipeout was created as a place for Bachelor Pad contestants to go to die. Sure, everything’s padded, but these people take a beating on courses that no normal human could ever pass. But they try anyway while pelted with water, mud, eggs, bales of hay (I’m not kidding), milk, paint guns, footballs, and more. 50,000 dollars people. Dignity comes a distant second place to that. I can’t believe I never realized this was a show before. I find myself watching back to back episodes.
I rarely get fever, but by Saturday, I’ve had it for three days straight, anywhere from 99.9 to a whopping 103 in which I could actually see heat waves coming off of my body. I think. That might have been hallucinations. Since my body often wants to mess w/ the medical profession, I normally run only 97.5, so maybe this is even higher for me. Not sure. What brain cells are left from 50 Shades are starting to fry.
I have also developed a nasty, nasty cough from deep in my chest. Have you ever heard a Great Dane bark? These are enormous dogs, probably bred from grizzlies, with barks so loud and deep and echo-y they sound like Barry White. I bark like that now. We have a neighbor dog that is a Great Dane. I bet if I went outside, I could outbark him now.I try to go back to the doctor, urgent care. I don’t think humans should bark. If we did, we wouldn’t need dogs. Nurse practitioner refuses to see me. I haven’t been on antibiotics long enough, and didn’t I get that cough syrup? Oh. Turns out Wal-Mart didn’t have any, so instead of getting a replacement, or say, telling us they had to reorder, they just left it completely off. Thank you, Wal Mart. I should supposedly have cough syrup tomorrow, and it had better be good.
The regular nurse that saw me (and took more oxygen from my finger, etc) informs me that coughing is my body’s way of getting rid of this nasty stuff. I think there has got to be a better way of doing this. Also, that I shouldn’t wrap up if I’m cold, because that increases fever, like foil bakes a potato. That’s comforting thought.
Sunday. Hubby does laundry and various other household tasks. He hands me my clean laundry. I don’t really care. There are a lot of things I don’t care about when sick. Here’s a list.
laundry, clothes, money (I am cheapest on the planet, but would pay 500 straight up for a cure), other people’s problems, other people (unless they can, say, go get me a coke), work, basic hygiene (I have not even changed clothes since Wednesday), blogging or internet (this is frightening), everything else.
Just getting to the bathroom (that is only a few feet away from the bed) is a trip when you have high fever and Great Dane cough. Let me show you a diagram.
I get the cough syrup. Finally. It sucks, and not just taste wise. It’s not entirely liquid, like a sugary gel, and even better, does not appear to work. I fall asleep for a bit, only to wake up drenched in sweat and coughing. Codeine you have failed me. And here we had this awesome relationship before.
Monday. I have already missed two days of work the week before, and must call in again. Honestly, I have never, ever wanted so badly to be able to go to work. I watch daytime T.V. TLC has a show called A Baby Story. I used to actually like this show. Before I had both babies. Now I have no idea why I liked it, or babies for that matter. They look like slimy lizards. Their parents are happy but deranged from lack of sleep.
“It’s a little challenging, parenting a toddler and a new baby.” Mom says. Toddler screams. Lizard screams. Mom smiles creepily before leaping out of a window.
There is a trashcan by my bed. Law of averages says I should have hit the can at least once with one of my dirty pieces of toilet paper (which I am using as Kleenex, I’m not that gross yet) since I am only dropping the wads from the bed a foot away straight down. Not so much. I don’t care.
Monday night / Early Tuesday. I go back to urgent care, thinking if I go this early, hubby can take me to the hospital where they will do some Houdini magic that will make me normal again, or at least put me into a coma or something. Nurse practitioner again refuses to see me, and tells me just to make an appointment with my regular doctor in the morning. I’m starting to think he just doesn’t want to see me or something.
Tuesday. I arrive at the doctor’s office.
. . .to be continued (Adventures in the Doctor’s Office!)